An Accidental Allegiance
by RussianWolf7
Summary: Harry and Draco become business partners in their eighth year at Hogwarts. Animosity quickly melts away into acquaintanceship into something more, perhaps? Another sort of business agreement comes into play, but will it be enough? Harry/Draco; Drarry. Silly fluff, nothing too serious. Rating for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Hey all! It's Drarry O'clock! I know you've missed it, especially **nannily**_**. **_I've been waiting and waiting to publish this just because I know it'll make you smile. It should have gone up Wednesday and I apologize for the delay; my health has been not so good, and I didn't have the energy to deal with the internet. On the bright side, this story is completely finished, so barring any unforeseen circumstances, I should be able to publish it regularly with no interruptions.

A **warning**__though: it has been edited by me, but is unbetaed, so if there are more mistakes than usual, it's entirely my fault.

Also, it's a bit—cracky? OOC? Something. Silly, definitely. I usually keep on the more serious side of things, but this is really just silly fluff. But hey, we all need some fluff sometimes, _oui_?

The rating is for later chapters; individual warnings will be posted at the top of each chapter. None for today.

Enjoy!

**Chapter One**

**1**

Harry was bored.

Really bored.

Like resorting to staring at Hermione's copy of _Hogwarts, A History_ that she was currently reading bored. She had propped it up against a stack of books so he could only see the top inch or two, the bit that proclaimed _Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus_. He mused on the phrase. The cover, of course, depicted the castle itself and not a sleeping dragon, or even better, a particularly unwise wizard tickling a dragon. He thought that would probably sell more copies, but as long as there were people like Hermione buying the book and people even worse than her printing it, the castle would remain on the cover.

"Hey, Hermione?" he asked.

"What?" she answered distractedly, not looking up.

"What're the dimensions of that book?"

"Uh, two hundred and twenty-two millimeters by one hundred and forty-three, the standard size for hardcovers."

Harry had grabbed a clean sheet of parchment and, though he still distrusted them due to one Rita Skeeter, told his Quick Quotes Quill to draw him a rectangle that size. Then he shoved the blasted quill back in his bag and, since he was feeling silly and artistic, chose the lime green Fwooper quill Hermione had given him for Christmas a few years ago.

She put her book down and looked at him over the pile. "Why?"

"No reason," he replied, sketching out a vague impression of a dragon, recognizable only by the flame shooting from its shout and the spiked tail. Other than that, it looked more like a dog. Or maybe a Flobberworm who'd gotten into a fight with a porcupine.

"Shouldn't you be doing homework?" she asked.

"I've finished everything but Muggle Studies, and I haven't got that for another day," Harry said, crumpling up the parchment and setting it on fire. It floated in the air for a moment, a small ball of fire, then burnt itself out leaving a pile of ash, which he swept onto the floor.

"Harry!" Hermione said, aghast. "You can't just make messes like that!"

"It's fine," he said, pulling out a fresh piece of parchment. "It blends in with the rest of the dirt." This time he didn't bother with the rectangle; it was clear he was going to need practice drawing dragons before he could start for real. "Any idea where books on dragons would be?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Doing your Muggle Studies paper on dragons? I suppose that could be interesting. Don't forget to mention the Ilfracombe Incident of 1932."

"Yeah, of course," Harry said, though he had no idea what she was going on about. "Where'd I find the books?"

"In Magical Creatures, under 'D'," Hermione said. "_Obviously_."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Not everyone's got the library memorized. I'll be right back." It took longer than he expected, first to locate the Magical Creatures section (just before Muggle Studies and after Local History), and then to find a book with illustrations. He had no idea what use a book on dragons without them would be, but it seemed nobody thought it particularly important to depict the beasts. Their history, sure. How to kill, or at least contain one, absolutely. But what they'd be up against? Nothing but text.

The very last book on the subject was a children's book entitled _Don't Dabble With Dragons!_ It had a cartoon of a Common Welsh Green on the cover, and a little girl smelling a flower with her back to the creature. Somewhat dubiously, Harry flipped through the pages. It was mostly an illustrated children's story, but at the very back it had full-page, full-color photos of each dragon breed. He walked back over to his table with a spring in his step. He was baffled why children were the only ones who needed to know what a dragon looked like, but at least he had found what he was looking for.

He started on the general shape first, using the cartoon of the Welsh Green as a model. Soon enough his parchment was covered with little dragons, ranging from pitiful snakes with wings to a fairly accurate depiction of the Welsh Green. Curvy neck, convex stomach, long tail and two small streams of fire shooting out from its snout. He magicked his ink green and colored the best of his sketches. It didn't look half bad.

Suddenly the tower of books blocking his activities from Hermione disappeared. _Don't Dabble With Dragons!_ fell face up, and Hermione gawked at him.

"You—you've been spending all this time drawing _cartoon dragons_?" she accused.

"So what if I am?" Harry replied defensively. "I told you, I've finished everything for tomorrow. I just wanted to relax."

Hermione shook her head as she walked away, putting her books away. When she returned she picked up the parchment and examined it. "Some of these are pretty good, actually," she said. "I can't condone putting off your homework until the last minute, but since you can't help yourself, I suppose there are worse things you could be doing."

Harry smiled. That was high praise indeed. "Thanks," he said, taking the parchment back. "D'you mind if I borrow your copy of _Hogwarts, A History_?"

She pulled the book from her bag and handed it to him. "If it comes back with a single drop of ink—"

"I know, you'll skin me alive," he said, setting it far away from his inkwell. "Thanks, 'Mione."

"I don't know why you'd need it," she replied. "There aren't any pictures of dragons in it, and I highly doubt you're curious as to their history in relation to Hogwarts."

"Don't worry about it," Harry said, settling down with a new piece of parchment. Full-sized cartoon, that was next. He had every intention of progressing to realistic drawings, but he wanted to make absolutely certain he had his bearings first.

"All right, then," Hermione said, a bit mystified. "I'm going back to the Tower. I'll see you later."

"Later," he replied vaguely, already absorbed in the drawing.

**2**

Harry was kicked out of the library when they closed at eight. He had an hour left before curfew and spent it in the hallway just outside the library, having hovered his things rather than shove them in his back only to pull them out again right away. He got a strange look from Madame Pince when she left, but she didn't say anything.

He was still working on the full-scale Welsh Green, trying to get the shading on its stomach right. The scales kept throwing him off and he'd changed the color of his ink from light green to dark over fifty times since he had started. It finally occurred to him that he could smudge the ink and once he conjured a glass of water and some paper towels he found his job much easier. Suddenly everything clicked and a few minutes later he had an exact reproduction of the dragon on the cover of the book.

He held up the parchment and smiled at it. He hadn't known he was good at drawing, never would have guessed from his atrocious handwriting, but this wasn't half bad. Yeah, it was just a cartoon, but it was a _perfect_ cartoon, roughly speaking, and he had drawn it. It had only taken—he cast a _Tempus_ charm—two hours to get it. That was pretty impressive, given that he'd never drawn before. Or maybe it was awful, he really didn't know. His knowledge of anything and everything art-related was exactly zero.

Then Harry ruined the drawing completely by trying to add the quote. He knew his handwriting was bad, but he thought he could write those four words without making it look like a five-year-old had scrawled all over the paper. He was wrong. Now the whole thing looked ridiculous, and he cursed. He attempted to magic his letters into something resembling calligraphy but he just made it worse, spreading the ink around the page and over his perfect dragon and then he set the damned thing on fire and watched angrily as it burned away to nothing.

"Potter!"

Harry flinched, jerking towards the sound of the voice. Professor McGonagall was striding towards him, lips thin and a dangerous frown on her face.

"Yes, Professor?" he asked quietly.

"Out of bed past curfew," she stated, standing before him. Towering before him, really, since he was still sitting. "Doing magic in the hallways. Setting fires. Really, Potter, what's gotten into you?"

"I lost track of time?" he said, almost like a question. "And I, er, got frustrated with my Muggle Studies essay."

"So you burned it," she replied. "And what, may I ask, are you doing with a children's book?"

Harry flushed. "Um. Studying?"

"Your lack of conviction is as unsurprising as it is ridiculous," Professor McGonagall said sharply. "Ten points from Gryffindor, and be lucky it isn't more. Get back to your dorm, Potter."

"Yes, Professor," he said, quickly gathering his things and speeding off towards Gryffindor Tower where settled himself at a table in a corner and went back to drawing dragons. He knew his time might be better used attempting to improve his penmanship, but that was a task to save for another night. Potentially never.

Around ten he set his drawings aside, which were really just exact copies of the cartoon on the cover over and over again, and picked up _Hogwarts, A History_. The title was in big, elegant letters along the bottom, and underneath, in smaller letters, the author. The school's motto curved along the top of the cover on a scroll, and the castle was in the middle. Harry considered. He wanted to stick with cartoon dragons—he had figured them out—but as long as he was pretending to design a new cover for the book, he might as well do it right, and there was no way such an esteemed book would concede to have a cartoon on the cover.

Not that they'd have someone tickling a dragon at all, but that wasn't the point.

Harry considered. Maybe it was the point. It wasn't like this endeavor would ever leave the confines of his sock drawer, where he kept all hidden things. Realistically speaking, tickling a dragon was more of a cartoonish activity than a realistic portrayal of a dragon curled up on the ground laughing while a little girl tickled its belly with a flower. Namely, it was not possible to use the words "realistic", "dragon" and "tickle" in the same sentence as long as said sentence did not also involve words like "flames" and "claws" and "very dead wizards".

So, cartoon it was.

He flipped through the book again, looking for a reference photo with the dragon in roughly the right position—lying on its back. But it seemed dragons did not do that, and while he supposed that made sense, as their bellies were potentially vulnerable, it was nevertheless very frustrating. Eventually settled on the cover photo again; at least the dragon was standing up, so if he turned the book sideways, it was almost like it was lying down.

Sort of.

It was like all of his hard work had disappeared the second he tried to draw something from his imagination. Getting the dragon in a curled position, finding the right arc, that was surprisingly difficult. Half his dragons were folded in half and the others were lying flat; there was no in between.

Harry momentarily gave up on dragons and filled an entire sheet of parchment with bowl-shaped arcs. Then, slowly but surely, he filled in each arc with a miniature dragon. Somehow it was much easier to imagine when all he could see were arcs.

When Ron came over around eleven to tell him he was going to bed and Harry really ought to as well, they had double potions with the Slytherins first thing, Harry's sheet of arcs was almost entirely a sheet of dragons. There were a few left to fill in but, for the most part, he had perfected the art of drawing a dragon lying on its back, curled up as if giggling. He was ignoring the hard parts, like their expressions and the little girl but, for the mean time, he was pleased with himself.

"You really are copying dragons out if a kid's book, then," Ron asked as Harry handed over his handiwork for inspection. "I thought Hermione made it up to cover something embarrassing. Not that this isn't, mind you. Pages and pages of dragons, Harry? Really?"

"I'm redesigning the cover of _Hogwarts, A History_," Harry said. "To go with our motto, y'know? _Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus_ and all."

"So you're drawing a dragon that's being tickled?" Ron asked, handing the drawings back.

"Yes," Harry said firmly, as if it wasn't weird at all.

"Huh," Ron replied. "Well, I guess that's alright, then. Dragons are pretty cool."

Harry thought back to fourth year, and first, and how he had almost gotten killed both times, never mind the dragon they had ridden out of Gringotts. "Er, yeah."

"Anyway, coming to bed, or are you going to stay up all night drawing?" Ron asked. "I'm sure Slughorn would love that excuse. At least it'd be a new one. 'Sorry I'm distracted, Professor, I'm just tired from drawing cartoons all night.'"

"Ha ha, very funny," Harry replied, rolling his eyes and putting his things back in his bag. "I'm coming, don't worry. I don't care about Slughorn, but Malfoy spends enough of Potions glaring at me as it is, the last thing I need is to give him an excuse to complain for real."

"Oh, that's right," Ron said, leading them up the stairs. "I forgot Slughorn assigned you two as partners. How's that going?"

"How do you think?" Harry grumbled. "He does most of the work, at least. I just have to do all the prep, and sometimes two or three times if he thinks I've done it wrong, and he does the actual brewing. Suppose it could be worse."

"Something worse than Malfoy?" Ron asked with a grin. "Yeah, maybe if you were partnered with that Aragog monstrosity."

They entered the dorm in a fit of giggles.

**3**

It wasn't until the next morning Harry realized his fingers were covered in ink and, due to not having washed his hands before bed, so was his pillowcase and the side of his face. Dean and Seamus found this hilarious and Harry brushed them off as he went to shower. The ink had set, though, and while the top layer came off fine, he was left with faded stains all over his hands and face. Absolutely brilliant.

They were even more amused when he returned from the bathroom not looking any better. Ron and Neville were laughing as well, and Harry muttered angrily under his breath as he dressed. There wasn't any way to cover the stains, either—gloves would look very strange, and as far as he knew there wasn't a contraption meant to cover just the left cheek.

At breakfast Dean and Seamus happily told the entire Gryffindor table that Harry was covered in ink and Ron supplied the reason, which Harry was not particularly thankful for. He was asked repeatedly if cartoon dragons breathed ink instead of fire, and he had his plate filled by his friends, so as to prevent any ink poisoning. Harry was feeling very grumbly and unpleasant by the time they went to potions and it only got worse when he saw Malfoy sitting neatly and cleanly at their station. _He'd _never let himself get covered in ink. Harry sunk into his seat, pulled his sleeve down to cover his fingers and rested his head on his hand to cover the stain on his face.

"Don't bother, Potter, your exploits reached the Slytherin table," Malfoy drawled. "Cartoon dragons, ink stains, all that nonsense. Give me your hands."

Harry gaped at him. "What? Why?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Residual ink could get on our ingredients and into the potion, and I'm not interested in either redoing the potion or doing all the work myself. Give me your hands."

Hesitantly, Harry held out his hands. He was expecting a particularly powerful cleaning spell, not that Hermione hadn't already tried, but instead his hands were covered in a thin layer of something clear and bendable and molded to his skin. Harry flexed his fingers. "What is this?"

"They're gloves, Potter," Malfoy said, sounding bored now that the potential potions crisis had been adverted. "You'll retain all movement and feeling but you won't get ink all over everything."

"Oh," Harry said dumbly. "Thanks, I guess."

"Don't bother. It was for my benefit, not yours."

And, just like that, his day was miserable again. The gloves might keep his fingers working and feeling but they were slippery and he went through maybe five or six ivy tendrils before he managed to chop one without it slipping out of his grasp at an inopportune moment. He only cut himself once, and it was shallow enough he fixed it himself, but still, this was clearly not his day. The ivy was all that needed to be chopped, at least, and the rest of the crushing and powdering and shredding was painless. Malfoy took the ingredients as they were prepared, and began the process of actually brewing the potion. When they had first been partnered Harry had tried to persuade Malfoy into telling him what he was doing, but he had quickly given up. It just wasn't going to happen. If he failed his N.E.W.T.s because of it, well, at least he'd have someone to blame.

Besides, it left him with just over half a class of doing nothing, and that was entirely okay with him.

"Malfoy, how do I get these things off?" Harry asked, waving his hands at him.

Malfoy leaned away and gave him a distasteful look. "Get your hands out of my face, Potter. They're gloves, I told you. Just take them off."

"Oh," Harry said again. Why was it Malfoy always made him feel so stupid? He found the edge of the glove and peeled it off. It vanished as soon as he set it on the table, and he repeated the process with the other. He pulled out a piece of parchment and, as much as he wanted to use his Fwooper quill, a standard quill, and started practicing his penmanship. As long as he was stuck in the dungeons with Malfoy, he might as well continue his misery.

He decided to jump right in. No messing around with the alphabet or his name, he'd start off with the motto itself. One word at a time, though. There was no need to get cocky. He started with his normal scrawl, just once, to motivate himself. Then he sneaked Hermione's copy of _Hogwarts, A History_ onto his lap and proceeded to copy the lettering.

It was impossible. There was no way he could tilt the quill in just the right way, or get his embellishments thin enough, or even keep the writing neat enough to be legible, especially when he was focusing on the curlicues.

And then, with a sudden ferocity, the parchment was ripped from his hands.

"Hey!" Harry exclaimed, reaching for it. "Malfoy, come on! Give it back! You said you didn't need me anymore. How's it your business what I choose to do with my free time?

"Well when you've scrawled my name all over a sheet of parchment, I tend to think it's very much my business," Malfoy said.

Harry gaped at him. "What're you—_oh!_" He started laughing, which only got worse as Malfoy glared at him.

"Pray tell, Potter, what's so funny?"

"It's not your name," Harry gasped. He saw Slughorn looking in his direction and quieted. "It's not you, you egotistical git. It's the school motto. _Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus_ and all."

Malfoy looked at him, then at the parchment, then back to Harry. "Why? Why should I believe you and if I did, why would you be fixated on just the first word?"

"Why else would I be writing Draco over and over again?" Harry challenged. "Do you think I'm some simpering school girl writing _Mrs. Harry Malfoy_ over and over again on all my things? Come on, even you can't be that arrogant."

"Fine," Malfoy snapped. "It's not my name. I get it. What's your obsession with the motto?"

That was how Harry ended up explaining the whole dragon and _Hogwarts, A History_ nonsense to Malfoy of all people when he had intended on keeping it a secret until—well, until forever. He fell silent, expecting a bitter rebuke, endless teasing, or possibly just the silent treatment. Instead, Malfoy asked to see the book.

"It's Hermione's copy," Harry said, picking it up but not handing it over. "If anything happens to it—"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. Let me see." Feeling very nervous about it, Harry handed the book to Malfoy.

"What're you doing?"

Malfoy held the book up to his face, almost so close his nose was touching it. Then he held it at arm's length, tilting his head to the side. "You're trying to copy the filigree?"

"Er, yes?" Harry asked, having only a very basic concept of what filigree meant and wasn't entirely sure if that's what he was doing.

"Here, you do it like this." Harry watched in astonishment as Malfoy took out his own quill and, carefully looking up at the book, penned the motto in a beautiful, elegant, flowing script that was arguably better than the original. "Is that really so hard?"

"Yes!" Harry said. "Yes, it really is!"

Malfoy sighed haughtily. "Let me see your dragons, then. I shudder to imagine what they look like."

"Not half bad, thanks," Harry said sarcastically, but he reached into his bag and pulled out the sheet of arcs. "I was practicing positioning," he said, feeling the need to explain the thirty or so nearly identical dragons adorning the page.

Malfoy considered. "These really aren't that bad," he said. "You're redoing the cover, you say? Tickling a dragon and all?"

"Yes," Harry replied suspiciously. "Why?"

"Are you planning on sending it in to the publishers, as an alternative?" Malfoy asked.

Harry was entirely confused. "Um, no. It's a little girl tickling a dragon with a sunflower. Somehow I don't think they'd approve."

Malfoy smiled, and it wasn't even a smirk. "No, perhaps not. Without that restriction, have you thought about making a poster-sized rendition? It could be amusing, perhaps."

Harry's brow was furrowed and he was eyeing Draco with the same level of confusion as if there was an actual dragon sitting in his seat. "Um. I guess, maybe? I suppose I could give it to Hermione, she'd think it a laugh."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Don't _give _it to her, you dolt. Sell it. I'd even do the lettering for you, if you'd split the profits. Ten galleons a poster, split between the two of us?"

Harry was blinking. Over and over again. Dumbfounded. "I—um—are you offering to help me?"

"_No_," Malfoy said. "I'm offering to go into business with you. A very different proposition. Think about it; between your artwork and my lettering, we could turn quite a profit. Dorm posters, school announcements, maybe charts for the professors, that sort of thing."

"Let's just start with one, alright?" Harry said, not really grasping the fact that he was agreeing to work on something with Malfoy by choice. "I'll let you know when the drawing's done, and hand it off."

"Have you got poster-sized parchment?" Malfoy asked.

"Er, no. I could probably magic some together."

"No, I've actually got some. I'm taking Arithmancy this year, I need extra-wide parchment. Stop by Slytherin dorms after dinner, I'll give you some."

Harry's head was spinning. "Right, sure."

Malfoy tossed him _Hogwarts, A History_, as well as his parchments. "Here. I've got to finish brewing this."

"Right."

**4**

The thing was, Harry realized, he hadn't been to the Slytherin dorms since second year, and he didn't exactly remember where they were. He had checked the Marauder's Map before leaving, but the little lines were a lot clearer than the actual corridors. He ended up wandering the dungeons for upwards of fifteen minutes before finally running into Goyle, lurking around suspiciously. This was going to be awkward, but he could do it.

"Hey, Goyle," Harry said. The other boy looked at him as if a chair suddenly started speaking. That wasn't really surprising. "Er, Greg, I suppose. Where's the Slytherin common room again?"

Goyle continued to stare at him, and Harry was reminded how very, very dull the boy was. "What's it to you?"

"I need to pick up something from Malfoy," Harry replied. "He told me to meet him down here, but I don't remember where."

Goyle blinked at him. "Got any tricks up your sleeve, Potty?"

Harry suppressed any number of insults. "Nope. Just need to talk to Malfoy."

Goyle eyed him, as if he was capable of higher thought. "Right, sure you do. I suppose it wouldn't hurt to escort you there myself, make sure there's no funny business."

"Thanks," Harry said, following the Slytherin through the maze of corridors that was the dungeons. They stopped in front of an unmarked bit of stone wall, and no wonder Harry hadn't remembered, there was nothing to remember.

"_Anguis_," Goyle said, and the wall slid away revealing a passage. Harry was pushed forward, Goyle following behind. He hadn't been here in ages, but the green light in the common room was just as unsettling as he remembered. Who would want to live beneath the Black Lake, really? Harry got a lot of incredulous stares, but that was hardly surprising.

"Ah, there you are," Malfoy said, rising from one of the tables. There was indeed a poster-sized piece of paper covering most of the table, filled with numbers and archaic symbols. "I was beginning to think you'd never show up."

"So he wasn't lying?" Goyle asked. "You did tell him to come here?"

"Of course," Malfoy said silkily. "Come on, Potter, it's in my room."

"Er, okay," Harry said, following Malfoy up a tightly curled stone staircase he really wished had a handrail and better lighting. Malfoy opened the door with a silver eight emblazed into the dark wood and disappeared inside without waiting to see if Harry was coming.

He did, feeling very uncomfortable about the whole thing. This was where Malfoy slept. He couldn't get past that. It was such a human need, to sleep, and Harry didn't generally think of him as human. Malfoy was on his knees, reaching beneath one of the beds, the one that must have been his, and that was really odd, because that was _exactly_ where he slept. He pulled out a metal contraption with a thick roll of parchment around it, sort of like a toilet paper holder. Malfoy pressed a small button and it sprung up to shoulder height.

"How much do you need?" Malfoy asked.

"Poster sized, I guess?" Harry replied. This fascination with Malfoy's bed was ridiculous, and it would be fantastic if he could focus on the conversation rather than if it was as comfortable as the Gryffindor beds. "I don't know dimensions of standard posters."

Malfoy considered. "Hmm, neither do I." He glanced around the room. "I'll just measure Blaise's, that should give us an idea." He walked over to a picture of a very scantily clad witch lying on a beach, winking suggestively at them and tossing her hair. "Oh, shove off," Malfoy snapped at her. "I'm measuring, not ogling." The girl crossed her arms and stuck out her tongue. Harry snorted in amusement. Malfoy conjured a measuring tape. "Sixty by ninety centimeters," he said, turning away from the lewd poster. "My parchment is sixty across, so that's perfect." He pointed his wand at the paper. "Ninety centimeters, please." The parchment unrolled, cut itself at the proper length and fluttered to the floor.

"Did you just say please?" Harry asked.

Malfoy sneered. "It's finicky, okay? The last time I snapped at it the thing trussed me up and gave me a thousand paper cuts. I had to have Blaise get me out, and it took ages for the house to stop laughing at me."

Harry bit back laughter. "I see," he said, sounding a bit choked. "Well, thanks, then." He picked up the parchment and stood awkwardly. Malfoy wasn't giving any indication of leaving the room and Harry wasn't sure if that meant he should stay and wait for him, or that he was too lowly to bother with.

"Should we plan it out together, do you think?" Malfoy asked after a moment. "I mean, you've got to leave me room to do the lettering. You can't cover the entire paper. Are we doing landscape or portrait? I'd imagine landscape, since your dragon will be lying down."

None of this had occurred to Harry. "Um, yeah, probably."

"Stick the parchment to the floor so it doesn't curl, will you?" Malfoy asked. "I need to find my erasable quill. I know it's around here somewhere." He started rummaging through a desk and Harry turned back to the parchment, the parchment that was right next to Malfoy's bed, where he slept, like a normal person.

"Can I put the roll away?" Harry asked. "It's in the way."

"Yeah, sure, just press the button on the side and put it back under my bed."

Harry shrunk it back down and slid it under the bed. He was curious, very curious, about what else might be hiding there, but there wasn't any way to check without being obvious. Instead he focused on sticking charms, trying to think of one that wouldn't harm the paper. He turned the paper sideways and used the spell Hermione had used for SPEW flyers fourth year. The parchment obediently uncurled and stuck itself to the floor.

"_Finally_," Malfoy muttered. He joined Harry on the floor, curling his legs elegantly beneath himself. How was it every single thing he did had to be so bloody perfect? "Okay, so we've got the scroll at the top, and the title and author at the bottom. Do you want to keep the author? If it's just a poster for Granger, I don't see the point."

"Um, no, I guess not."

Malfoy eyed him. "You haven't thought this through at all, have you?"

"The poster was your idea!" Harry protested. "I was just bored and putting off my Muggle Studies essay."

Harry thought, amazingly, unbelievably, Malfoy might be fighting against a smile. "Right, then," he said, turning back to the paper. "The scroll with the motto, that would be about here." He leaned over the parchment and sketched a perfectly centered rectangle that was exactly the right proportions. "And the title, that should be, hmm, like this?" He sketched another rectangle at the bottom of the parchment. "What do you think?"

Harry was flabbergasted. Malfoy had never asked his opinion on something before, _never_. And Harry was leaning against his bed. This was weird. "That looks good," he said.

Malfoy shot him an annoyed look. "Don't you have any opinions, Potter?"

Harry huffed. "I told you, I wasn't thinking about a full-sized poster!"

"Well neither was I, until I suggested it," Malfoy shot back. "Use that so-called brilliant brain of yours. If you insist on making me do all the planning and hard work, that fifty-fifty split is going to change drastically."

"But what you did really does look good!" Harry said indignantly. "I'm not going to sacrifice quality because I won't argue with you. Merlin, Malfoy, that's just so bloody daft."

Malfoy pursed his lips. "Well. Fine. That was oddly flattering, coming from you. Do you want to sketch out your dragon here, since I've got an erasable quill?"

"Er, sure," Harry said, taking the quill from him.

"I've got to do homework, mind you, but I can bring it up here and keep an eye on things," Malfoy said. "I'll be back in a moment." He left, and now Harry was alone in Malfoy's room, alone with his bed, and he wasn't going to pass up this sudden and obsessive need to investigate.

First he looked under the pillows. Of course there was nothing there, Malfoy wasn't an idiot. Then he checked under the bed. The paper scroll was there, as well as three ornate wood boxes. Harry glanced at the door. He had no idea how long he had. He turned back to the boxes and thought very hard and very fast. Would the box closest to the head of the bed be the most important or the one from the left, as in alphabetical? Harry pulled out the one to the right and opened it. It was filled with letters, letters from his mum. That was sweet, a side of Malfoy he'd never seen. He quickly put the box away and returned to the parchment. That was enough of that. _Really_, though, _nothing_ was enough of that because this bloody obsession was _ridiculous_. It was a _bed_ for Merlin's sake.

And then he squished his bed, just to see if it was as plushy as the Gryffindor beds. It was.

Okay, so, sketching a dragon. He started with an arc.

One more box wouldn't hurt. There were only three, after all. The second contained quills, regular-sized parchment, and other school supplies. Not particularly interesting.

He glanced towards the door again and listened for footsteps. Nothing.

Harry opened the third box. He flushed immediately, all but threw the top back on and shoved it into position. Was this the right position? Had he put them away incorrectly? Were they too far under the bed, or not far enough? Merlin, why had he done this, it was stupid, so very, very stupid, and Malfoy probably had all sorts of spells on them that would notify him the second they were tampered with and _Merlin_, he would have liked to have a bit more time to go through the third box but that wasn't happening.

Dragons.

Dragons all the way.

Nothing but dragons.

Harry stilled his shaking hands and went back to work sketching. It was different, working on such a large scale, but the shapes were all the same, and by the time Malfoy came back with a stack of books, he had the bottom of the dragon drawn out. More arcs, that's all they were. A big arc for the belly, a series of small, swishing arcs for the tail and the neck, and another arc for the head.

Malfoy dropped his books on his bed, the bed he slept in, and came over, squatting next to Harry.

"That's a dragon?" he asked.

"Yes," Harry said irritably. "The bottom of a dragon. See? Arcs."

Malfoy shrugged. "Whatever you say, Potter. And don't forget about that girl; she's in front of the dragon, you need to leave space for her."

Ah, yes, that would be wise. Maybe he should let Malfoy do all the planning and give him more of a cut. He wasn't doing this for the money, he was just bored and had spare time on his hands. He was taking the bare minimum of classes, just the ones he needed for the Ministry. It was a lot of work, but not a lot of a lot of work. The point being, he had spare time to draw dragons, and he found he really liked drawing dragons. Any profit was irrelevant.

Malfoy was reclining on his bed, the pillows pushed up against the headboard, one leg bent at the knee and the other straight out, reading his Arithmancy book. He looked perfect, like always. It was infuriating.

Harry turned back to the parchment and finished sketching out the dragon. He ignored the girl for now, he'd need to practice small scale first, but since the quill was erasable, it didn't matter. He found he had as much work as he wanted once the outline was complete. If he felt so inclined he could stay here on the floor of Malfoy's dorm for the rest of the night, adding scales and fire and spikes and claws.

Quite suddenly Malfoy leaned over, craning his neck to look at the drawing. "Not bad, Potter."

"Er, thanks," Harry said. Their faces were very close, and it was disconcerting.

"Hand me a quill and some parchment, would you?" Malfoy asked, looking directly into Harry's eyes, and that was even more disconcerting.

"Um, sure, where?" Harry replied. That wasn't a full sentence, but at least he didn't accidentally reveal he knew precisely where they were.

Malfoy's eyes twinkled. "I think you know."

Harry had to work very hard not to betray himself. "Your desk, I assume?" he asked, starting to get up.

Malfoy grabbed his shoulder, preventing him from rising. "No," he said with a smirk, drawing it out. "Not in my desk."

Harry's brain flew, trying to come up with another place they might be. "Your bag?" he tried. "I don't see it, maybe you left it in the common room."

"I did," Malfoy replied. "But that's not right, either."

Harry forced himself still, forced himself to hold Malfoy's gaze, forced his brain to work. "I don't know, Malfoy," he said, forcing himself to sound irritable. "I'm not your bloody house elf, I don't know where you keep every little thing. Tell me or not, I'm going back to drawing." He tried to lean forward but Malfoy prevented him from doing that, too.

"Under my bed," Malfoy said. "The first box on the left." He was daring Harry to contradict him.

"You should've just said so," Harry muttered. He forced himself not to blush. _Puppies_, he thought to himself as he slid the box out from under the bed. _Puppies and kittens and baby sheep and dragons._ He opened the box. "I think you got the wrong box, Malfoy," he said as if it was nothing. "Nothing here but gay porn."

"Oh?" Malfoy asked, raising an eyebrow. "My mistake. My school supplies must be in the middle box, then."

"Didn't know you were into that," Harry said, putting the lid back on, cutting off the leer of the leather-covered man on the front cover of _Conjurers and Chains_. He had been sucking suggestively on the tip of his wand, and if that had been distracting, well, so be it. Harry slid the box back under the bed and took out the second. "Any quill in particular?"

"Whatever floats your boat," Malfoy said, answering both questions in one fell swoop.

Harry cursed him. Perfectly articulate as always. Fucking bastard. He was not going to give in, not going to let Malfoy get to him. This was some new form of teasing, a brand new torture since his regular insults failed to bother Harry anymore. After spending a year hunting Horcruxes and killing Voldemort, being called Potty or Scarhead just didn't get to him.

"I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific than that," Harry replied. "Like I said, I don't know what you're up for. An eagle quill? Owl? Maybe that purple Fwooper quill? I need instruction."

"Hmm," Malfoy considered. He leaned over further, bracing one hand next to Harry, _right _next to him, and went through the box with the other. "I'm feeling tame tonight. Owl it is." He plucked a plain brown quill out and a sheet of parchment. "Thanks for the help, Potter. Couldn't have done it without you."

"Just get back to studying, would you?" Harry asked, shoving the box back under the bed. "I have a dragon to draw."

"Pardon my interruption," Malfoy replied. He was back on the bed, lying on his stomach, quill poised. "By all means, return to your dragon."

"I will, then," Harry said, leaning over and starting on the flames.

"Good," Malfoy replied. "Meanwhile I'll write an essay on Goblin relations for History of Magic. So much more interesting than dragons, don't you think?"

"Absolutely," Harry said. He was trying really hard not to pay attention to Malfoy and focus on the flames, but even though their conversation had turned away from innuendo, he couldn't quite realign himself. "I'm jealous. But oh, that's right, I've already finished mine."

"No doubt because you have the course load of a first year," Malfoy shot back and, yes, that was good, because Harry knew how to deal with this sort of banter.

"I've been through hell and back," Harry replied. "I deserve an easy year."

"Whatever you say, Scarhead."

"Ferret."

They fell back into silence, working steadily. Once Harry finished the fire he moved onto scales and lost track of time completely. There was an infinity of scales. Scales took forever. So it wasn't until he heard a very small snore he realized it might be a bit late. He looked over at Malfoy, who was fast asleep on his parchment, still holding his quill in one hand. Harry had to bite back a smile. The word adorable did not come to mind when speaking of Draco Malfoy, but it was the only thing Harry could think of. Carefully he removed the quill and, even more gently, lifted the sleeping boy's head up so he could reach the parchment beneath. Both of these, along with the inkwell, went on his bedside table. Harry cleared the stack of books and set them on the floor.

Harry looked around for a clock. When he finally found it, he jolted—quarter past one. When had that happened? What's more, why had none of the other eighth years come to bed? He and Malfoy had been undisturbed, the lights were still on, there was no indication they were anything but alone. Did Slytherins just not sleep? Harry gathered his things, though he didn't unstick the poster yet. Maybe it was best left here? He wasn't sure and he didn't want to incur Malfoy's wrath by doing the wrong thing.

Very quietly, Harry tried to leave. When the muddy feeling first hit he thought he was just tired and his legs didn't want to support him. But as he continued the sensation of walking through molasses grew stronger, and he only got a few feet away from Malfoy's bed before he couldn't move at all. He stepped back, and immediately the sensation went away.

Okay. So that explained some things. He hadn't heard the other Slytherins go to bed because Malfoy had erected some sort of protection spell, complete with silencing and separate lighting. The thing was, Harry was really tired, and he didn't want to deal with this. Given enough time and effort he thought he could break through, but he had neither of those things, and he just wanted to lie down and go to sleep and never draw another scale ever again. He turned and looked at Malfoy. He looked… calm. Almost happy. Waking him would be unfortunate. Yes, today was the first time they had been civil towards each other, and only barely, but waking a happy Malfoy seemed a bit like poking a sleeping bear. Disaster. Carnage. Very loud, upsetting noises.

So, Harry sat back down and went back to drawing scales.

A short while later he put his quill down and rested his head in his arms. Just for a minute, to relax his eyes from all those scales.

**5**

"Potter, what are you doing on my floor?"

Harry opened his eyes groggily. He tried to turn to look at the voice but a stiff pain shot through his neck and down into his shoulder, the sort of pain he got from sleeping on an uncomfortable surface. And yes, this did seem uncomfortable. In fact, it seemed an awful lot like a floor. He was nudged in the ribs, just past gentle but not into the land of painful.

"Come on, Potter, wake up."

Harry rolled over. Carefully, so as to not disturb his neck. Or disturb the paper he was lying on because yes, now he remembered, he had tried to go back to his own room but had been held captive and so had decided to work on scales all night, and at some point he must have fallen asleep.

Malfoy was sitting on his bed, legs hanging off, clothes rumpled from sleeping in them, and he had a slight case of bed head, just on one side, causing a few errand strands of otherwise perfect hair to stick up. Harry laughed, and Malfoy frowned.

"What's so funny down there?" he asked.

"You look cute."

Silence reigned. Harry was not a morning person, that had been established a long time ago, but usually he wasn't quite _that_ daft. Then again, he didn't usually wake up on Malfoy's floor.

"I mean, your clothes are rumpled, and your hair's sticking up," Harry amended much too late. "I've never seen you look anything other than perfect. It's good to see you're human after all."

Malfoy continued to frown at him. "So tell me why you're on my floor again? I missed that."

"I couldn't leave," Harry said. "Some sort of protection spell?"

Malfoy flinched. "Ah, yes. The Treacle Trick. Forgot about that. Why didn't you wake me up?"

"I dunno," Harry said defensively, feeling like any answer he gave would sound too mushy. "You looked…peaceful?"

"Peaceful?" Malfoy repeated. "Is that a question? Are you asking me how I look when I'm asleep? I'm afraid I can't answer that one for you."

"You're bloody infuriating," Harry said angrily. "I was being nice. You could thank me."

"For unwittingly letting you sleep on my floor?" Malfoy asked, purposefully difficult, as always. "Thank you for the great honor of having the one and only Golden Boy grace me with his sleeping presence. It means the world to me, Potty, really."

Harry glared at him. "I let you sleep," he replied. "That was nice of me. Especially since it meant I had to sleep on your very uncomfortable floor."

"If you're a masochist, that's your business, not mine," Malfoy said. "Come on, get up. We're going to be late for breakfast."

Harry sat up and flinched. It wasn't just his neck, though that was the worst by far. Every muscle in his back was clenched and felt like someone with an awful lot of fingers was poking him very hard. He rubbed his neck, and even that hurt.

Malfoy sighed. "Stiff?"

"You could say that," Harry replied. He pulled himself to his feet and picked up his bag. It would have to go over his right shoulder and only his right shoulder. He looked over to see Malfoy rummaging through his bedside table drawer. "What now?" he asked dully.

He pulled out a flask filled with a pinkish purple liquid. "Here," he said, handing it to Harry. "Just one sip, otherwise you'll be a puddle."

"What is it?" Harry asked, opening the cork and sniffing. It smelled like nothing in particular with just a touch of medicine.

"A muscle relaxant," Malfoy said. "Go on. I'm not poisoning you, I promise."

Harry took a small sip. Immediately his neck, shoulders and back relaxed. He let out a surprised and grateful sigh, corked the flask and handed it back to Malfoy. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," Malfoy replied. "Really, don't. That's from my private stores, I don't need everyone in school thinking I'm a bloody apothecary."

"Yeah, sure," Harry said, rolling his shoulders. They were pleasantly loose, looser than they'd been since the damned war started. "Thanks. Loads."

"You've said that already," Malfoy said, going through the stack of books and picking out the ones he'd need for the day. "Seriously, we need to go. We've already missed most of breakfast, might as well grab a slice of toast before heading to Herbology."

"Muggle Studies," Harry replied. This time it was easy to leave the room; maybe the spell only activated when Malfoy was asleep?

"Don't care," Malfoy replied, dropping his books into his bag, which was still on the table with his Arithmancy chart, and led the way out of the common room and through the dungeons.

"You're brilliant to wake up to, you know that?" Harry asked. It was still early, and he hadn't been awake enough to generate actual annoyance or anger.

Malfoy smiled, and for a split second it seemed genuine before returning to his trademark sneer. "Wouldn't you like to know."

Harry made an expression somewhere between a frown and a laugh. "Malfoy, I do know, I just did it."

Malfoy glared at him. "I meant in bed, you dolt."

"That definitely would have been nicer," Harry replied lightly. "I don't know what I would've done without that potion. Still, I would rather sleep in a bed."

"Not in mine," Malfoy said.

Harry actually laughed. "You've gotten yourself turned around. First you start off by insinuating I've spent the night with you, then you declare it would never happen? Silly little ferret."

Malfoy glared at him. "You're an idiot. I _insinuated_ that _you_ wanted to be in my bed, not that _I wanted_ you there. In fact, that was my entire point, if you had let me get to it."

"Ah," Harry replied loftily. "How very clear and concise."

Malfoy punched his arm a little harder than he needed to. "And I'm not a bloody ferret."

"Whatever you say, Malfoy."

They reached the Great Hall and, just before splitting ways, Malfoy said, "My room at ten?"

Harry stared, completely shocked. Then he remembered the poster. "Yeah, sure. I dunno if I'll have time to practice the girl before then, though, so I might just finish up the dragon, which won't take long."

"Then bring some homework," Malfoy said off-handedly. "I had to suffer watching you have fun while I toiled away, now it's your turn."

Was that a request to study together? No. Definitely not. "Suppose so," Harry replied carefully. "See you then, I guess."

"Later."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Sorry this is going up so late! Life is very, very difficult, and getting out of bed was not an easy task. If any of you know about spoon theory, I barely had enough spoons to even get out of bed. But publishing this chapter and the bagel that's in the toaster are adding to my meager spoon collection, so that's good.

**Warning:** sexual suggestions and talk about sexual situations, but nothing explicit. It probably doesn't even qualify for a warning, but I'd rather err on the side of caution.

Enjoy!

**Chapter Two**

**6**

Wednesdays were not Harry's favorite day. Muggle Studies, History of Magic and Defense Against the Dark Arts. Defense really ought to have been interesting, but after all Harry had been through, he just found it boring and redundant. The good thing, though, about all these boring classes, was that he had ample time to practice the girl. He still took notes, at least vaguely, but he kept _Don't Dabble With Dragons!_ positioned in his bag just so, and copied the girl over and over again. He'd only need to make a few adjustments from the illustration: holding the flower out instead of smelling it, and giggling instead of smiling serenely. He got the positioning down fairly quickly, but her expression took ages. Halfway through Defense Hermione grabbed his supposed notes and stared at the mangled faces. She gave him a horrified look.

"They're supposed to be giggling," Harry whispered.

Hermione shook her head and handed the parchment back. Harry redoubled his efforts. Still, by the end of class, they all looked like they were screaming. Perhaps appropriate for actual dragons, but not for tickling them. He found it disturbing how well he could depict horror, and that it was so close to laughter.

After class, Harry, Ron and Hermione went to the library to study. Harry did study, and he did write his essays, despite Hermione's insistence he must have been cheating, or doing a half-arsed job if he was already finished. She checked them over, all three, frowning the whole time, and handed them back without a word.

"I told you I did them," Harry grumbled. "Muggle Studies and Defense; do you really think those would take any effort? And I _was_ paying attention in History of Magic, even if I was doodling. Plus, well, I still have your copy of _Hogwarts, A History_, and it's very well annotated."

"Give it back," Hermione said immediately. "I knew you were cheating somehow."

"It's not cheating, 'Mione, it's helping a friend," Harry said, though he did return the book. He'd need to check out another copy from the library so Malfoy could copy the lettering, but that wouldn't be hard. In fact, since he was done with his essays and didn't particularly feel like going back to drawing little girls screaming, he meandered over to Local History. He stared blankly. The allotted place for _Hogwarts, A History_ was empty. Who the hell had checked it out? He realized he was unreasonably upset, but Malfoy was going to start on the lettering tonight, and for a reason not exactly known to him, Harry needed him to go through with that. Maybe he was worried Malfoy would back out if he was bored, and after all those scales, Harry was _not_ letting this go.

He returned to their table in a huff. "Dinner?"

"Yes, brilliant," Ron said immediately, closing his book with a satisfying thud. "I'm starved."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Can't you two ever focus on work?" But she, too, packed her things, and they walked to the Great Hall together. Harry spared a glance at the Slytherin table as he walked in; Malfoy was sitting with Zabini, Goyle and Parkinson, like always, like he had been at lunch. Their eyes met for a split second before Harry looked away. There was no reason to keep tabs on Malfoy. They weren't meeting until ten, presumably so Malfoy could get his homework done. Harry realized he had none to bring with him, but that would just have to be okay. Maybe they could position the poster so they could both work on it.

In any case, it was six now, and Harry was settling down to dinner with his two best friends and now was the time to hang out and have fun and eat and not obsess over ridiculous things like posters and Malfoy and _Hogwarts, A History_ and Malfoy's bed and that box. No, now was the time to eat, drink and be merry. So he did, and Hermione only brought up his drawings once, and Ron only teased him a little, and if Harry didn't tell him about the poster project with Malfoy, that was only because he wanted to surprise Hermione.

Ron and Hermione returned to the library to finish their homework and Harry drifted back to Gryffindor Tower. He had his eye on a nap. A nice, long, refreshing nap in his own bed. He didn't know what time he had fallen asleep last night, no doubt half past scale o'clock, but he was tired. And he wanted his bed. The muscle relaxant Malfoy had given him was lovely, but he still wanted _his_ bed.

He had a revelation as he collapsed onto his bed. Maybe he was so fascinated by Malfoy's bed because it was _his_. Beds were personal, important and lived in. There was a connection a person had to their bed, something special. Maybe he had been looking for Malfoy's humanity, for what made him happy. It was an interesting question, really. It seemed calligraphy made him happy. Letters from his mum. And, er, gay bondage magazines.

Harry considered his own bed. What would Malfoy find if he went snooping? A hastily shoved mess of whatever hadn't fit in his drawers or desk. His warm cloak, the one he saved for late winter. That'd have to come out soon, but not quite yet. He had no boxes, nothing so organized, no letters from his family—the ones he had gotten over the years from Sirius and the letter he'd found at Grimmauld Place resided safely in his sock drawer. Certainly no gay bondage magazines. The gay part didn't surprise him, everyone knew Malfoy fancied men, that was nothing new. Bondage, though? Harry wouldn't put anything past him. It was surprising, maybe, for a few seconds, but he had long ago ceased to be surprised by Malfoy. As for himself, well, he may be interested in flipping through a gay magazine, to investigate, but only the most vanilla of porn.

Oh, fuck it. He was lying on his own bed in his own dorm, completely alone. Might as well admit he was gay. He hadn't told anyone, not because he was afraid of their reaction, he knew his friends wouldn't care, but because he wanted to be absolutely certain. Realistically, he was, but somehow he had gotten it into his head he couldn't really know until he kissed a boy. He had hoped for an opportunity this year, but it didn't seem terribly likely. As far as the gay population of his year, Dean and Seamus were together, Michael Corner in Ravenclaw was bisexual but was currently dating Luna Lovegood, which Harry thought rather sweet. And then there was Malfoy, which, quite literally, made him laugh. As if.

Though, maybe, that was why Malfoy had suddenly switched tactics last night from his usual insults to innuendo. Maybe, somehow, he had found out about Harry's sexual preferences, and was teasing him, trying to goad him into… into what, exactly? Admitting he was gay? Breaking down and crying about how embarrassed he was? Not going to happen. He was comfortable with his sexuality. He just wanted to be sure, that was all. How Malfoy found out was a sort of interesting question, since Harry hadn't told anyone, but Malfoy was clever at reading people, maybe he'd just figured it out. There was a chance that Harry calling him cute may have tipped him off. But, no, that had been this morning, not last night.

Whatever. It didn't matter. Harry was going to take a nap, and that was that. He kicked off his shoes, climbed under the blankets and set an alarm for quarter of ten. He closed his eyes. The last thing he saw before falling asleep was that twinkle in Draco's eyes when he told him to open the box on the left.

**7**

Harry woke up the minute before his alarm went off, as he usually did. He turned it off, rubbed his eyes and dragged himself over to his dresser. He threw off his clothes, which were a crumpled, smelly mess from being slept in twice, and pulled on jeans, an old Chudley Cannons shirt that had gotten mixed up in his laundry ages ago and never made it back to Ron, and a Weasley jumper. How very Weasley-ish. Malfoy would have a field day.

He looked around his room, wondering if there was anything he should bring with him. He grabbed _Don't Dabble With Dragons!_, some spare parchment for practicing, and the Fwooper quill he'd used the other day when he'd had such success with dragons. Maybe it was lucky, and he'd be able to draw better with it. Stupid logic, but oddly persuasive.

Also, he put his slippers in his bag. The Slytherin dorms were cold, and Harry wasn't in the mood for real shoes. After ten he felt he no longer had to conform to societal regulations regarding clothing. Hell, he would have gone in his pajamas if Malfoy wouldn't have laughed him out of the room.

Oh, and his Invisibility Cloak. He threw it over himself before he left. Curfew had ended an hour ago, a fact Malfoy would have known, and was no doubt testing him. Why or what he didn't know, but he was clearly supposed to be breaking the rules. He also took the Marauder's Map so he could find the dungeons again.

He slipped through the Gryffindor common room, out the portrait with practiced stealth, and down to the dungeons. Once he was there he took out the map and found his way to where he thought the door was. He whispered "_Anguis" _and, yes, the stones slid away. Another whisper, "Mischief Managed", and he padded quietly down the corridor. He didn't see Malfoy in the common room, so went straight up to the dorm and opened the door. It was a little dangerous, in case one of the other boys was inside, but that hadn't occurred to him until he was halfway through. The entire room was empty. Malfoy wasn't here, either. Harry muttered a curse. Was this all a joke? Was he being played?

"I'll show you mine if you'll show me yours."

Malfoy's voice floated out from his bed. He must have had the Taffy charm up again. It was weird, being invisible and talking to someone invisible. It lent a strange sense of unreality to the situation.

Feeling very vulnerable, Harry took off his cloak and shoved it into his bag. "Can I assume you're behind that bloody spell again?"

"I am," Malfoy replied. "Just a moment." He muttered something under his breath and popped into existence. No shimmering, no fading. One minute he wasn't there and the next he was. He eyed Harry. "You've dressed well."

"Oh, you haven't even seen the best part yet," Harry said. He pulled out his slippers and slid them on.

Malfoy stared at him. "Bunny slippers? Really, Potter?"

"Fred and George gave them to me," Harry said. "They eat carrots, too."

Malfoy shook his head. "You're impossible. Now get over here, I don't like being unprotected. Harry shuffled over to the poster, which still lay on the floor. Malfoy re-charmed his space, and joined Harry. "Lettering tonight, don't you think?"

Harry's stomach churned uneasily. "Hermione made me give her _Hogwarts, A History_ back, and someone checked out the school's copy."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "That'd be me, you dolt. You think I'd rely on Granger to finish this?"

"Don't be mean," Harry said. "Do the lettering. I need to work on my girl. I haven't quite got her expression down yet."

"Go ahead, then," Malfoy said. He sat on the floor, took out his erasable quill and _Hogwarts, A History_ and bent over, getting started.

Harry stood awkwardly. "Should I sit on the floor?"

Malfoy didn't look up. "I'd think you'd have had enough of my floor for now, but if you'd like."

"Well is there anywhere else to sit?" Harry asked a bit irritably.

Malfoy did look up at that. "Have you gone blind, Potter? My bed's right there."

"Oh," Harry said. He climbed onto the bed, leaning against the headboard. Malfoy slept here, slept on the pillows he was using as a backrest. This was weird.

He rummaged through his bag and took out his parchment, quill, the children's book, and an old textbook for drawing on. He resumed his giggling attempts. They were pathetic. And scary. Mostly scary, to be honest. The whole page was filled with screaming girls staring at him with blank eyes. Harry crumpled the parchment and threw it as far as he could. It sort of melded into the Taffy charm, sinking into the wall and then popping back out.

"That bad, huh?" Malfoy asked.

"Don't look," Harry said. "Really, don't. It might steal your soul."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "I've had many opportunities for my soul to be stolen, and I have thus far managed to keep a firm hold on it. I highly doubt anything you could do would remove it from me." He flattened out the parchment and cringed. "Oh dear Merlin," he said. "These are awful. Can't even recognize laughter anymore, just screams?"

Harry thought that last comment was supposed to be mean, but it came out as sympathetic instead. "There may be a shortage of giggles in my life," he replied with a smile, trying to diffuse the tension. "I can't imagine there's a surplus in yours."

Malfoy smiled snidely. "You'd be surprised. Pansy can be—er, well, amusing in her own way."

"I don't believe you at all," Harry replied. "It pained you to say that."

Malfoy huffed. "All right, fine, I don't 'giggle', as you say. I laugh derisively."

Harry was starting to smile. "Yeah?" he asked. "Never just let it all hang out?"

"Of course I have, Potter," Malfoy said smoothly. "But that certainly has nothing to do with giggling. In fact, I'd be rather alarmed if it did."

Harry had an idea, a stupid, crazy sort of idea. He slid onto the floor next to Malfoy. "Never giggled once?"

Malfoy eyed him suspiciously. "No."

"And there's nothing I can do to change that?" Harry asked.

"I don't know or like where this is going," Malfoy replied a bit nervously.

"Then you've made me do this," Harry said seriously. "For research, mind you, in order to make the poster as perfect as possible. You would never put your name on something less than perfect, would you?"

"I suppose not, no, but—" He cut off into a shriek as Harry dug his fingers into his sides. "Wait!" he gasped, laughing and trying to push him off. "Don't fucking—heehee—_tickle me!_" He broke off into another bout of giggles. Harry was grinning widely. He was working on memorizing Malfoy's expression for his drawing, and no other reason.

"You know, you don't look half as scary when you're being tickled," he remarked.

"Stop—it!" Malfoy managed before breaking off into another round of giggles as Harry found a particularly sensitive spot just below his ribs.

"Not until I've gotten your expression committed to memory," Harry said. "I told you, I need to research."

Malfoy flailed out, hitting Harry's nose. Harry jerked away, checking to make sure it wasn't broken, and Malfoy struck. Literally. He launched himself onto Harry, pinning him down and digging his fingers into his sides.

Harry smirked. "Thick sweater, Malfoy. You can't get to me."

Malfoy glared at him. "Watch me." He pulled up Harry's sweater, which successfully stilled Harry into shock. Malfoy wrapped the sweater around Harry's wrists, holding him in place, and returned to his sides. Harry let out a shriek, jerking beneath Malfoy, who was looking at him triumphantly. "Memorize _this_, Potty. How I'll always be better at everything than you."

"Get—off!" Harry laughed. "This is not—_argh_, not there!—funny!"

Malfoy laughed a little. "Yes, it is. It really, really is."

Harry was thrashing and laughing hysterically and still, he was very aware of Malfoy's presence on top of him. There were no funny feelings, so to speak, just a sort of pleasure from having someone, an attractive, male someone, on top of him. It meant nothing, it was normal, to enjoy physical contact, and even more normal to fucking _hate_ being tickled. Still laughing, he worked on freeing his hands. He got one out, the sweater still wrapped around the other, and he whapped Malfoy in the face with the sweater. Malfoy was momentarily distracted and Harry jerked up, grabbing him by the shoulders and flipping him over so he was once again on top. Harry pinned Malfoy's arms over his head and held them, catching his breath and trying to calm his smile that still wouldn't go away. He could, however, turn it into a smirk.

"What was that about always being better than me?" Harry asked.

Malfoy glared at him. "This isn't over. You'll have to let go of me eventually."

Harry shrugged. "Maybe. I did finish my research. I'm pretty sure I can draw a girl who doesn't look like she's screaming in horror."

"Then get off me," Malfoy snapped.

The thing was, that weird sort of pleasure that came from being beneath Malfoy was at least doubled if not tripled from being on top of him, and Harry didn't want it to stop, not yet. The other thing was that he needed an excuse and needed to keep that smirk on his face before Malfoy saw something unfortunate.

"No." Oh yes, brilliant. "No" was definitely an excuse.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "No?"

"No," Harry repeated.

"Then what do you intend on doing with me?" Malfoy asked. He seemed genuinely interested, which was terrifying. Why wasn't he yelling? Why wasn't he fighting against him? Why wasn't he mercilessly teasing him?

"Why aren't you fighting back?" Harry asked, stalling.

"I'd shrug if you weren't holding my arms so tightly," Malfoy replied. "I'm curious, I suppose. By all rights you should have broken my nose by now, or at least resumed that torture known as tickling. But you're not, and I'd like to know why."

Harry tried to think. He really tried. It just seemed his brain was no longer capable of thought. So he got off Malfoy, rolling to the side and untangling his sweater from his hand as Malfoy sat up.

"That was a boring answer," Malfoy said, brushing himself off. "For a second I thought things might get interesting."

Harry's stomach flipped. Malfoy had looked so delicious, panting and flushed beneath him. Harry had known Malfoy was gorgeous of course, everyone knew that. But this, this was different. This was something new.

Harry's cheeks flamed and he quickly looked away. Strictly speaking, it wasn't new. It was something he had discovered a while ago. One night. Very late. When he first started to suspect he might be gay. And, well, if it had involved Malfoy, that was only because of that obvious gorgeousness, and because he was gay.

Anyway. So maybe being attracted to Malfoy wasn't new. But it really didn't matter, because most of the school was. He'd just had a closer investigation than most. So now all he had to do was sit here innocuously until he stopped blushing and certain things lowered themselves.

"Potter, I thought you were going to get back to drawing," Malfoy said.

"Yeah, I'm going to do that," Harry replied awkwardly. Keeping his back to Malfoy he slid onto his bed and stayed on his stomach. That was a good plan. He was still flushed, but a brief inspection of Malfoy revealed he was, too. From the exertion of tickling, of course. So everything was fine. He picked up his quill and stared blankly at a fresh piece of parchment.

"Last chance, Potter," Malfoy said, and Harry turned to him. He was still flushed, his hair was mussed, and he looked so ridiculously, incredibly delicious.

"Last chance for what?" Harry asked.

Malfoy sighed in frustration. "For whatever that was in your eyes when you were straddling me."

Harry stared at him.

"I know you're gay, if that's what you're thinking," Malfoy said. "That's obvious enough. I'm less clear on whether or not you're interested in me, or if you'd act on it if you were, but I enjoy sex quite a bit and I certainly wouldn't mind a break from this godforsaken calligraphy."

Harry continued to stare at him. What, exactly, was happening? Was he really being propositioned by Malfoy? That was—he didn't know what. It was something, though.

Malfoy shrugged at his silence. "Apparently not. Never mind, then. Back to work." He had his quill out and was bending over before Harry finally regained the power of speech.

"I'm interested."

Malfoy looked up. "It would be just sex, mind you. A partnership much like this poster business. There's something we both want, and we both get something in return."

"Right," Harry said. He wasn't sure how okay that was, he had never thought himself the type to have a sex buddy, and he definitely had thought his first time would be with someone he loved, but maybe this wasn't such a bad idea. No strings attached, no risk of getting hurt, no rejection. That all sounded pretty appealing. With one exception. "I wouldn't want you sleeping with anyone else, though," Harry said, well aware that wasn't something he should be saying. "If we have that sort of partnership, it's between us and no one else."

Malfoy eyed him. "I suppose I could agree to that, as long as you're up to the task."

Harry squirmed. He was a virgin. He'd never even kissed a boy. And now he was committing to what was bound to be an awful lot of sex? "I am." Which was exactly what he meant to say, and nothing like "I'm scared" or "I don't know what I'm doing" or "What if I'm not actually gay?"

"I sense hesitance," Malfoy said. "This agreement can be terminated at any time by either party. It's no more than a business arrangement."

"Okay then."

Malfoy continued to give him a very intense look. "You're sure about this, Potter?"

"I'm a virgin," he blurted out. "I don't have any idea what I'm doing. You want someone else, someone who's had experience, who—"

"Stop your babbling," Malfoy cut in. "It doesn't matter to me, as long as you don't care that I'm your first."

Harry did care, only he wasn't sure in which direction, so he let it go. "No, it's fine."

"What _have _you done?" Malfoy was now fully facing him, all pretense of working on the poster gone. He was leaning back against one of the other beds, knees in the air.

Harry flushed. "Um. Nothing. I've kissed girls, but that's it."

Malfoy's eyes widened the tiniest bit. "So I'd be your first kiss, too."

"If that's all right," Harry said around a lump in his throat and now it was blindingly obvious that he cared a lot about who was his first at what and, somehow, a kiss seemed so much more intimate than sex, and maybe he shouldn't be doing this, maybe he should wait for the right person to come along, and maybe this conversation with Malfoy was doing all sorts of crazy things to his brain and stomach and cock and maybe, maybe Malfoy was the right person, which was even worse than if he wasn't, because then Harry couldn't just walk away and there were strings and it wasn't a partnership anymore but a one-way unrequited crush and there was no way that would end well.

"I wouldn't mind, no," Malfoy replied. There was a long, drawn-out silence as Malfoy considered. "You're sure this is what you want? You don't want to hold out for your soul mate, or whatever you Gryffindors call it?"

Harry did, but that was no longer the point, not if he could kiss Malfoy. "Yeah, I'm sure."

"Then we have a deal."

Malfoy—or should Harry be calling him Draco now, he should have asked—closed the distance between himself and Harry, who was still lying on his stomach on Malfoy's bed, on the bed he slept in, on the bed that Harry might very well lose his virginity on.

The first kiss wasn't at all what he expected. He had thought dueling tongues, clashing teeth, fighting for power. Instead Malfoy gently cupped his face and brushed their lips together. A jolt of electricity shot through Harry, pooling in his stomach, his groin and his heart. Nothing with Cho or Ginny had been anything like this, had even approached it.

Malfoy pulled away, leaving his hands on Harry's face. "Well?" he asked, almost gently. "How'd you like your first kiss?"

Harry swallowed dryly. "Think I'm ready for more."

Malfoy laughed. "I'd be happy to oblige." He leaned in and Harry quickly turned away, remembering his question.

"Do I get to call you Draco now?" he asked. Malfoy hadn't stopped, though, hadn't been deterred by his moving away, and kissed his cheek, moving closer and closer to his lips before capturing them again. Slightly longer this time but still just as sweet and powerful and chaste as before.

"If you'd like," he replied eventually.

"It seems fitting," Harry said, trying for indifference.

"Only here, though," Malfoy—no, Draco—said. "As far as the rest of the school is concerned we're just the way we always were. Except for our poster business, of course."

Something twisted angrily inside Harry. "Yeah, of course."

Malfoy smiled. "Harry, would you like another kiss?"

"Yes, Draco, I believe I would."

**8**

Harry learned a great many things about himself that night. He learned that kissing Malfoy—no, kissing Draco—was one of the best experiences life had to offer. Draco was exceedingly skilled, tender and passionate at the same time, and while Harry knew that came from excessive practice, there were moments where he managed to push that out of his mind.

Harry learned, and this was an obvious one, he really liked getting head. Again, obvious, but _Merlin_ he had never expected it could be so good. Yes, that was certainly almost due to Draco having a lot of sex, but still. His tongue, his mouth, his hands, they were bloody amazing.

Harry learned, much to his surprise, he enjoyed giving as much as receiving. Having Draco's cock in his mouth was somehow inescapably wonderful. He tasted delicious, felt like velvet, and made the most incredibly noises Harry had ever heard, his favorite being his own name mixed in with swears and sharp pants when Draco came.

Harry learned swallowing would take some practice.

Harry learned Draco enjoyed licking any that spilt onto his face. And that that was really, really hot.

Harry's favorite thing, though, was that he learned Draco was a cuddler. Afterwards they let in bed, twined together, poster completely forgotten in exchange for snuggling. They had kicked the blankets down to the bottom of the bed during their tryst, and after a few minutes Draco moved out of Harry's arms and for a terrifying moment Harry thought they were done but no, he was just covering them in a warm comforter and soft sheets, and then he turned out the lights.

Harry learned sleeping with Draco, actually sleeping, was brilliant.

Unfortunately, Harry learned a few other things as well.

He learned that what he thought was a mild attraction was, in fact, a lot more than that.

He learned the thought of Draco having done all these things with anyone other than him was enough to send his blood boiling, even if they were now exclusive.

He learned they were the entirely wrong form of exclusive.

He learned he needed more than this. A lot more.

He learned that any funny feelings he'd had over the years were anything but funny and, if left unchecked, would only leave him broken-hearted and humiliated.

Harry also wondered a lot, mostly about things better left alone.

For instance, he wondered if Draco usually fell asleep entangled with his current conquest.

He wondered how long Draco had thought about having sex with him, or if it had been a spur of the moment sort of thing.

He wondered what actually dating him would be like.

He cut himself off. He was lying in bed, in Draco's bed, in nothing but boxers, holding Draco, who had that same happy, contented smile on his face he'd had this morning, who was also wearing only boxers, and he was going to enjoy this, dammit, and not let any feelings get in the way. Because this was not about feelings, Draco had made that perfectly clear.

So instead he fell asleep, and if that had taken much longer than it should have, well, so be it.

**9**

Waking up with Draco was not nearly as difficult as yesterday. For one thing, he was in bed. For another he was woken with kisses rather than a prod to the ribs. Harry sighed happily, returning the attention, running his hands through Draco's silky hair. That was another thing he'd learned last night, that touching Draco's hair was one of his favorite things.

"Mm, what time's it?" Harry asked, eventually pulling away.

Draco made a face. "Time to get up, I suppose. I'd much rather a reprise of last night than Potions, though."

"Potions with Malfoy or sex with Draco," Harry mused. "Sort of a tough decision."

With that sentence, Harry officially learned how to manipulate Draco. At least sort of. True, he'd already wanted it, but still. Harry had managed to get him to agree without having to outright ask for another blowjob, and that felt like an accomplishment.

After, though, there was no cuddling, only frantic attempts to get ready for class. Harry redressed in yesterday's clothes, really wishing he had robes instead of a frayed sweater and jeans, especially when Draco was the image of perfection. He gave Harry quite a look as they walked to class.

"I can't believe we're walking in late with you looking like that," he sneered. "Really, Potter, you're an embarrassment to wizardkind."

That twist in his stomach again. "Sod off, Malfoy."

There were a lot of looks when they walked into Potions together, late, with Harry in Muggle clothes and no shoes. He'd debated, but quickly decided just socks was better than bunny slippers, even if they were from the Weasley's joke shop.

Harry didn't know why he expected anything to change when Malfoy had explicitly stated it wouldn't, but there was still something dreadfully depressing about being completely ignored as he readied potion ingredients, Malfoy only speaking up to reprimand him for doing it wrong. He shoved the ingredients over to Malfoy with only a little more force than usual and sat still for a moment, sulking. Then he remembered he needed to practice the giggling girl. He even had a reference now, though thinking about it tightened his stomach again.

Still, Harry was quite pleased with his results. It seemed that he had just needed a reference and, however unfortunate, the image of Malfoy pinned beneath him laughing hysterically was burned into his mind. He drew a few small sketches, then took up the rest of the parchment with a single, larger drawing. It wasn't half bad, and he slid it over to Malfoy.

"What do you think?" he asked quietly.

"It's fine, Potter, now get it out of my face, I need to focus."

Harry pulled the parchment back over. This sudden need for Malfoy's approval was stupid and ridiculous and dangerous and he had to stop it this very second.

They split without a word as Gryffindors went up to Charms and Slytherins went—well, Harry didn't know, and it wasn't any of his business, seeing as how he didn't have a single friend in the house.

"What was that about?" Ron asked. "Staying out two nights in a row, coming to class late in my mum's sweater with _Malfoy_ at your side?"

"It's nothing," Harry said sharply, and it wasn't.

"You two aren't having some secret affair, are you?" Ron asked jokingly.

"No!" Harry snapped. Ron and Hermione both stared at him. That may have been a little excessive. "No, of course not, don't be daft," he said more calmly. "We're working on a project together and I fell asleep on his floor. That's all."

"Right," Ron said. "Two nights in a row?"

"Yup."

And that was the end of that conversation.

**10**

Malfoy bumped into him as they were leaving lunch for Herbology. He glared at Harry.

"Keep your hands to yourself, Potter," he snapped.

"You walked into me," Harry shot back. "Watch where you're going."

"If I was to stoop to purposefully coming into contact with you, I'd be brushing past you contemptuously," Malfoy said snidely.

"Well go on with that contempt," Harry replied angrily. "Some of us have classes to get to."

"You talk as if I care what you have to say," Malfoy sniffed. "Run along, Potty."

Harry stormed down to the greenhouses, Ron and Hermione trailing behind him. He was irrationally upset and he knew it, but he needed to burn off the anger before he was stuck at a table with Ron, Hermione and most likely Neville, all wondering why he was mangling whatever they were going to be working with today over what would hardly be considered anything at all, compared to what he and Malfoy used to say to each other.

As it was, it was a good thing he arrived before his friends. When he reached into his bag to pull out his Herbology book, a piece of parchment fluttered out along with it. In perfectly elegant calligraphy it said _My room, ten o'clock. And bring a spare set of robes if you plan on spending the night again_. Harry grinned foolishly to himself and stuffed the note in his pocket. The calligraphy, yes, that was amusing. The thought of spending another night in bed with Malfoy? That was pure brilliance.

"What're you so happy about?" Ron asked.

"Plants," Harry replied vaguely.

"You have been rather—up and down lately," Hermione said delicately. "Is everything okay?"

"Yup," he said as Neville joined him. "I'm just in a plants sort of mood."

"Oh, excellent!" Neville said happily. "It's about time one of you stopped moping through class!"

Herbology dragged on. Harry wasn't actually interested in plants at all, he never had been, but now he needed to put on a front of interest. A front that didn't involve reliving the memory of Draco swirling his tongue around his cock because that was entirely inappropriate and would lead to a very awkward situation pants-wise if he wasn't careful. He had no robes to hide him, just jeans, and besides, plants.

Plants.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Yay! Getting this up before nine at night! I totally woke up before six in the evening too (even if it was because my dad woke me up). Anyway, enjoy! And please don't hate for the cliffy; it'll be resolved soon.

**ETA:** This is what I get for publishing just after I wake up. I'm so terribly sorry I forgot the **warning:** sexual situations between two consenting, of age males. I'm so sorry, I promised warnings and I spaced out. No sex yet, but definitely, y'know, contact.

**Chapter Three**

**11**

Harry wasn't nearly as speedy with his homework that night. Certainly it had something to do with three feet of potions essay, which was hardly his strong suit, as well as essays for Herbology and Charms. It wasn't helped by his memories of last night, or this morning, but that was definitely not the only reason he had only finished half of one essay by dinner.

"Honestly, Harry, you're quite ridiculous," Hermione said as they ate. "First you finish all your work in record time, and the next day you can't even manage a single essay? Are you absolutely positive there's nothing on your mind?"

"Absolutely," Harry said, sparing a glance at the Slytherin table. Malfoy was sitting with his friends and ignoring him. Of course he was, there wasn't any reason for him to do anything else. Harry ate quickly, keeping his eyes on his own table, and returned to the library, desperate to finish his homework by ten. He slogged through the rest of potions and had nearly finished when the library closed, forcing him back to the Gryffindor common room. It wasn't that he didn't like his common room, in fact he loved it, it was just a lot more distracting than the silence in the library. Exploding Snaps, wizard chess, heated Quidditch debates, all of which were a lot more interesting than essays. The result was by the time he had to leave to meet Malfoy he still had Charms left.

Harry was once again appraising his room, looking for things to bring. The slippers had been a brilliant idea, saving his feet from certain frostbite, and so those went in along with his Charms book, several quills, a roll of parchment and the Marauder's Map, in case he couldn't find the Slytherin dorms again. Feeling giddy, he added a clean shirt and boxers, and standard robes. His bag was bulging in protest, but it held. He slipped under his Invisibility Cloak and hurried off to see Malfoy. Or was it Draco? He wasn't sure when the name change occurred. Was working on the poster and homework enough, or did he have to be naked? Interesting question.

Harry was quite pleased that he could indeed find the innocuous bit of wall leading to Slytherin house without the map. Once again Malfoy—or Draco—was absent from the common room, and once again he was invisible behind his Taffy Trick. What had changed, however, was that Blaise Zabini was lying on his bed and looked up suspiciously when the door opened on its own.

"Who's there?" he asked, reaching for his wand.

Harry shuffled out of his line of sight as silently as he could, keeping a hand on his own wand, just in case.

There was no need to worry. Zabini sighed in annoyance, got up and closed the door, muttering about drafty, falling apart castles.

Crisis averted. Now just to get Malfoy to realize he was there. He poked at the Taffy charm, but nothing happened. He leaned against the charm as hard as he could with no real hope, and, just as he expected, nothing happened. He knew the charm was sound-and-lightproof, rendering anything he could pass off as a "drafty, falling apart castle" irrelevant.

Harry took out his wand and thought carefully. He touched the tip to the invisible barrier and whispered, "_Finite Incantatem_." Much to his surprise, the simple spell did the trick, and Malfoy suddenly appeared, bent over the parchment, working on the lettering.

Zabini jumped. "Merlin, Draco, give a man some warning, would you?"

Malfoy jerked up. He obviously hadn't realized the charm was broken. Harry quickly stepped within its bounds. "Sorry, Blaise," he drawled. "I didn't think I needed to tell you every time I've got to go to the loo. Besides, you can't hear me when I'm behind the charm. That's the whole point, idiot." He rose and left. Harry stayed on the floor; he didn't want to risk Zabini noticing an imprint on the bed. He also wasn't sure how quiet his bag was, so he remained standing, too nervous of being found sneaking into the Slytherin dorms to sit on even the floor.

Eventually Malfoy returned and put the charm back up. "I already started on the lettering, hope you don't mind," he said, going back to the poster.

"It's fine," Harry said, taking off his cloak and finally letting his bag fall to the ground. "I still have another essay to do."

"Get on with it," Malfoy said. "If it's going to take us a week to do a single poster, we'll never turn a profit."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Amazingly, Malfoy, I care just a wee bit more about my marks than a few Galleons."

Malfoy glanced up at him. "What happened to first names?"

Harry flushed and immediately started digging through his bag so Draco, apparently, wouldn't see. "Force of habit," he said, pulling out his book, normal quill and parchment. "Does the charm extend to your desk?"

"No," Draco said. "You're stuck with me."

"I was more in the mood for a comfortable writing surface," Harry said.

"You should have said so," Draco replied huffily. He reached under his bed, which made Harry flush again, remembering what was there, and pulled out a portable writing desk. "Here, just sit on my bed and use this."

"Thanks," Harry said. Being nice to each other, it was weird, especially when they continued their regular banter during the day. He settled down and tried really, really hard to focus on his homework. Really. It was just the way Draco was bent over, well, if he was naked, that would be extremely tantalizing. The thing was that Harry _had_ seen him naked, and it was very difficult not to picture things that had nothing whatsoever to do with Charms.

Draco glanced over at him, and smirked. "Want something, Harry?"

He didn't shiver at all when Draco called him by his first name. "Yeah, as a matter of fact, I do."

Draco leaned back on his hands, legs curled under himself, letting his shirt ride up just the tiniest bit. Harry's eyes were glued to the strip of skin. "And what might that be?"

Harry licked his lips. "You."

"I see," Draco drawled. "Any particular part of me?"

"All of you."

Draco seemed a bit caught off guard by this, and Harry tried very hard to get his brain to start working again so he could figure out what he'd said wrong. "You'll have to be more specific, Harry."

Oh, that. Had he implied he wanted something more than sex? Or, actually, had he implied he wanted sex at all? He did, absolutely, no question about it, but he was nervous and new and thought they might be better off taking things slowly, at least for a bit. Going straight from enemies to taking his virginity, that was a big leap.

"What do you want?" Harry asked, trying to take the focus off himself.

"Well, we could have a repeat performance of last night and this morning," Draco mused. "That was certainly quite enjoyable. Or… hmm. I haven't been with a virgin in a while. I don't know what you're comfortable with."

Well, that made two of them. Plus the astonishment that Draco was considering his feelings and—maybe—emotions? Was he even aware people other than himself _had_ emotions? "Maybe we could start with kissing, and go from there?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, all right," Draco said amenably. He moved onto the bed, pushed Harry's school supplies aside and sat next to him, squishing against him since the bed was so narrow. A soft, cool hand on Harry's cheek, turning him face-to-face, and then smooth, velvet lips against his. Harry closed his eyes and sighed. Did Draco kiss everyone like this? It seemed so intimate. This was supposed to be a business arrangement. He'd expected something more—more business-like, meant to arouse as quickly and thoroughly as possible. Definitely not this sweetness, this caring.

_Stop_, Harry thought firmly. _Don't. Don't go down that road. Just kiss him back_.

So he did, and it was so wonderful, filled with fireworks and sparkling electricity and his stomach was rolling pleasantly—_dangerously_, he thought, then pushed it aside—and a heat was starting to pool in his groin already, from just a single kiss. It seemed the novelty of kissing Draco never wore off, though it wasn't a novelty, and Harry had realized last night that it wasn't going to, and he needed to stop this before he got more involved but he couldn't, not when Draco's tongue was dancing on his lips, asking for and receiving entrance. Harry gasped when their tongues met, once again tangling his hands in his silken hair.

_This is worth it_, he told himself firmly. His stomach was knotting uncomfortably, moving from happy arousal to something more sinister, and he needed to pull away, he'd just decided that, but he wasn't going to. _It's worth it, it's better than nothing, and don't you dare stop. I'll kill you if you stop_.

Draco moved his hand from Harry's face to his groin, pressing gently on the erection Harry hadn't even realized he'd had. He moaned into Draco's mouth and pulled on him, just to get him closer, but Draco took it as an invitation and slid onto his lap. Harry let out a guttural groan, unable to help himself. Draco's hands were back on his face and Harry's were on Draco's hips, holding him in place as he rutted against him and it was embarrassing, yes, very embarrassing, and that was so not going to stop him.

"What do you want?" Draco asked, panting, lips still against Harry's.

"You," Harry said again. "This. I don't care."

Draco pulled away, putting his hands on Harry's shoulders to prevent him from leaning up for more kisses. "Do you want to wait, I mean?" he asked. "I know it's a big deal for you. And since you're a Gryffindor, you probably have all sorts of romantic notions about how it should go, like candles and a fancy dinner or something."

Harry was having a very difficult time with this conversation. He could have sex with Draco, right now, if he wanted to. That part he got. It was the rest that kept sliding away from him. Dinner? Was Draco offering? Would—no, it wouldn't be a date, it would be their bloody partnership.

The realization that he couldn't have sex with Draco hit him like a ton of bricks. If just kissing, just moving against him, just a blowjob had fanned an innocent attraction into a huge, pathetic crush, sex was out of the question. It would only make him want Draco more, would only hurt all the more when Draco finally realized how he felt and broke it off.

"I can't," Harry said, averting his eyes.

Draco sighed. "I knew it. Stupid Gryffindor valiance, needing a real relationship. I should've known you'd never let me go that far."

"Does this end our agreement?" Harry asked, stomach extremely upset and, oh Merlin no, what could have possibly been but definitely wasn't the first pinpricks of what could potentially turn into tears starting to form.

"I see no reason why it should," Draco said, and Harry finally looked back at him. "Surprising, I know, but I find I prefer your mouth to my hand."

"Still just us though, right?" Harry asked, risking sounding pathetic in his need for an answer. "You won't run off to get a proper shag from someone else?"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "You, Harry, are unexpectedly possessive. Though I suppose any surprise would be my own fault; that stupid Gryffindor honor again. Yes, Harry, I'm all yours," he said, rolling his eyes.

The thing was, he wasn't, but that was close enough because it had to be. "Then you should probably start kissing me again," Harry said. "Oh, and unzip your trousers, would you?"

Draco's eyebrow rose further. "Do I sense a dominating streak in my little Gryffindor?"

"No," Harry said quickly and honestly before remembering the magazines under Draco's bed. "Well, maybe. But right now I just want to watch you get off on me."

Draco considered. "I'd have to remove our clothes, then, so as to not get them messy. I won't come all over my slacks."

"Yeah, that's good," Harry said. He was mildly concerned that Draco might find it odd he wanted to watch him wank, but then he was naked, and so was Draco, and his cock was nestled perfectly between his cheeks and _fuck_ Draco was gorgeous, he'd somehow forgotten that since this morning. He stroked Draco's chest, pausing at each nipple, eliciting gasps each time, dipping down to trail along the line of curls descending further, then moved his hands back up, causing Draco to whimper. Harry captured his lips in a searing kiss, bare chests pressing together, and he rocked up, and maybe he should change his mind about this sex business because he was so close, just one thrust away, but _no_, that was _not_ an acceptable plan.

Harry anchored his hands on Draco's hips, again keeping him still, and looked up at him. His eyes, he'd forgotten just how grey they were, and how dark they got when he was aroused. They looked at each other expectantly.

"Well?" Draco said eventually. "Are you going to get me off or what?"

Harry's eyes widened. "Oh!" he said. "Oh, um, well, I suppose, yeah."

Draco laughed, genuinely amused. "Did you want to watch me _wank_?"

Harry flushed but he couldn't look away, not when Draco was on top of him, not when looking down meant looking at his cock. "No, I just got distracted," Harry stammered, reaching towards him. Draco batted his hand away.

"Harry, that's—" He broke off into laughter again. "That's really, very sweet. Very virginal. It kind of defeats the point of doing this, though, don't you think? If I'm going to wank, I might as well do it alone."

Harry's heart clenched. There was no difference between getting off by himself or getting off on Harry? That was flattering. And humiliating. "I said you misunderstood," Harry said, striving for annoyance. "I had just gotten distracted, from being squeezed between your cheeks."

Draco's eyes glazed over for a moment. Then he seemed to rally himself. "No, that's not at all what happened," he said. "Well, perhaps you did get distracted, and I'd hardly blame you, but you were most certainly waiting for me to touch myself."

"Which you don't want to do," Harry said, becoming genuinely irritated. "So let me—"

"No, if you want me to, I will," Draco replied amicably. "This is for both of us, remember? If you have a particular fantasy you want me to fulfill, all you need to do is ask." He laughed again. "I'm rather flattered that your fantasy is watching me wank, I have to say."

"It's not!" Harry said crossly. "I just—never mind, forget it. Just get off, I've got Charms."

Draco smiled tenderly at him, and Harry's head was swimming, because this conversation, or argument, or whatever it was, was really confusing. "Harry. Relax. You're obviously in no mindset to do homework. I didn't mean to embarrass you, I'm very sorry. Please, let's continue."

Harry eyed him. "I—okay."

Draco leaned down and kissed him gently. "Okay."

Harry was having a lot of trouble reconciling this sweet, kind, wanting-to-please Draco with the magazines under his bed. Wouldn't he rather be chained down and—and somethinged? Harry didn't really know, he hadn't investigated that sort of thing. But this? This was nice. Very nice. And made his heart tug in an entirely pleasant and dangerous sort of way.

Draco leaned back, one hand on Harry's thigh, the other going to his cock. Which was just as beautiful as the rest of him, especially at this moment; hard and red and leaking just a bit and Harry thought he must have already had at least a semi before he got here because there was no way he could get hard that fast, unless he could, unless Harry had something to do with it. Either way, it implied Draco was looking forward to sex with him, and that was entirely okay with Harry.

Harry realized very quickly that Draco had beautiful hands. His fingers were long and elegant, his skin was pale enough Harry could see blue tints snaking along, and his tendons stood out just slightly. But really, that paleness, that was hypnotizing against the red of his cock. Harry just sat and gaped for a moment before he remembered he was supposed to be doing something as well. He tightened his grip on Draco's hips and rolled against him, pushing further into the crack, generating as much friction as he could. Draco let out a quiet moan that might have been more of a sigh and pushed down.

"Mm, this is better than I thought it would be," Draco said comfortably, shifting so Harry was nestled completely between him. He laughed breathily. "I guess your cock just makes everything better."

Like that, that sentiment, how was that just sex? Maybe Harry was just that inexperienced, that naïve. Maybe this was how it was supposed to go. Draco wasn't forming any sort of attachment, Harry was sure of that. But what if he was? What if maybe, just maybe, this wasn't as one-sided as he'd thought?

_No. Stop. Watch._

Very good advice, because Draco's breath was speeding up and he was thrusting into his hand and, as a result, against Harry, and he was flushed and beautiful and Harry was going to remember this particular image forever and, if he ever ended up back in his own bed again (which was a stupid thought, of course he would), this would make for the best wanking material he could possibly ask for.

Harry finally had the presence of mind to move with Draco, to thrust against him in the rhythm Draco had set. Draco let out a whimper, jerking down, grinding himself against Harry, who moaned at the contact. They were still sitting, Harry was propped against the headboard, and Draco was so close to him in so many ways. Harry leaned forward and captured his lips in a kiss that was returned forcefully, passionately, almost desperately. Draco, desperate for a kiss? From Harry? No, he must be misunderstanding.

Now that they were moving together Harry let go of Draco's hips and trailed his fingers over his back, tracing patterns, memorizing his skin. Then across his front, more thoroughly than before, finding every sensitive spot and working Draco up, replacing his hands with his lips where he could reach, and that was how Harry found out how Draco's nipples tasted and what it was like to feel them harden beneath his tongue. Again it hit him how close they were to having sex and how desperately he wanted it; what sounds would Draco make if Harry was inside him? Would it be the same breathy whimpers he was making now? Would he be louder, swear more, be even more out of breath? Would he moan Harry's name like he had this morning?

That was almost it, almost enough to just fuck it and slam into Draco. The only thing that kept him from doing exactly that was that Draco wasn't prepared at all, hadn't been stretched in the slightest, and Harry had no lubricant. All of those things were very good because he was _not_ going to lose his virginity to Draco, not if he didn't get a commitment more than 'Sure, let's fuck around for a while', and that was also not going to happen. So no matter how incredible it would feel, Harry held back.

Instead he latched onto Draco's neck, sucking and licking and biting and leaving a mark because he had to claim him somehow, the urge was overwhelming and undeniable. Draco's whimpers grew louder until they were really more than whimpers, more breathy moans, and Harry could feel his hardness and his hand moving between them, he felt the wetness of his pre-come against his stomach and he whimpered, too, because that was stupidly good. He thought Draco was getting close; he had only made him come twice, but he was already learning the sounds he made as he approached climax, and Harry had been too busy thinking about not fucking to remember about himself.

Harry returned his hands to Draco's hips and stilled them. Draco whimpered again, but now he could properly rut against him, and yes, that was good too, very good. Draco's mouth was on Harry's neck, having taken the hint Harry hadn't meant to leave, but his lips were really good and soft and sexy and when he bit down there was nothing but pleasure. Harry sped his thrusts and Draco matched his rhythm and they were kissing, sort of, they were both panting too hard and too distracted to keep their lips in constant contact. Harry wanted to reach down and take Draco in his hand, wanted so badly to touch him, but there was something incredibly sexy about watching—or, given their position, feeling—Draco wank.

"Dray," he gasped, not having the lung capacity for more.

"Yeah, what?" Draco replied, leaning his head on Harry's shoulder, sliding back slightly, increasing the friction on Harry's cock and he almost came but he held himself back. If there was ever a time to ask this, it was now.

"Those magazines," Harry breathed before losing his trail of thought as Draco moved back up.

"What about them?" Draco asked, the words barely intelligible over his heavy breathing.

"Why?"

Draco laughed throatily, and he regained some of his speech, which was useful but a shame. "Because they turn me on, you idiot."

Harry, who was still not capable of complete sentences, asked, "Why?"

Draco bit his neck just where it met his shoulder, and Harry groaned. "Why anything? Why does having me get off on you turn you on?"

Harry was so far gone he came perilously close to saying something idiotic, something like, "Because I'm in love with the idea of you wanking to me when I'm not around and also your bed, this is your bed, and you wank in it, and I sit on it, and I want to see." Instead, he asked, "Top or bottom?"

Draco stilled for half a second before continuing. "Depends on my mood," he answered. "And who I'm with."

And lo, suddenly Harry's heart was clenching again and his stomach was knotting but he was still so close and the jealousy mixed in with the pleasure was so strange and foreign and unpleasant but still arousing, the way he was moving against Draco proved that.

"Me?" Harry pressed. "With me?"

Draco didn't stop moving, but he did pause before replying. "Why? Do you want to play with me?"

Harry moaned as Draco thrust particularly hard. Was this line of questioning turning him on? "Maybe."

"Definitely bottom," Draco said, then let out a low groan. "Fuck, Harry, absolutely bottom."

Harry stopped his questions. He didn't know what else to ask, wasn't familiar enough with—what was it? _Conjurers and Chains?_—to be able to ask. He had vague notions of spankings, but that was it. Even if he did want to ask, his balls were tightening and his fingers digging into Draco's hips and he hardened almost painfully and then, with a loud moan came, jerking uncontrollably against Draco, smashing their lips together, falling even more in love. Draco lost the ability to breathe completely and with a few more strokes, strokes that Harry watched very carefully, came as well, come shooting over both of them, and Harry had never seen anyone come before, and it was brilliant.

Then Draco collapsed on him, panting, nuzzling his head under Harry's, his hands on Harry's hips in what Harry thought, with no small amount of awe, might have been as much of a hug as he could manage, his body so wonderfully relaxed in a way Harry would never have thought he'd get to see.

"Spell us clean, would you?" Draco asked eventually. "My wand's in my bag on the floor."

Harry took his wand, which had managed to stay on the bed even through their movements, and uttered a cleaning spell. The stickiness vanished, as well as some of the sweat. He'd still need a shower before bed, which was sort of interesting seeing as he was in the Slytherin dorms, but he'd worry about that later.

Harry had known from last night that Draco liked to cuddle, but he was still shocked when he curled up on his lap, keeping his head beneath Harry's, leaning his body against his, bringing his legs up onto Harry's and, most astoundingly, reaching for his hand and holding it, lacing their fingers together.

No, this couldn't be just sex.

No, this was just sex, and he had to come to terms with it.

But no, it really couldn't be just sex, not when Draco was curled up on his lap like a cat and _holding his hand_.

But no, it really _was_ just sex, because they had made an _arrangement_, a _business deal_, and that was it.

In what was half an experiment and half unavoidable, Harry kissed the top of Draco's head. He purred. Fucking _purred_.

And Harry still had to do his Charms homework.

Well, fuck Charms. He didn't have it until Monday, he could leave it to the last minute. There was no chance in hell he was getting up. Draco mumbled something under his breath that Harry didn't catch. It seemed Draco was already falling asleep, which would have been wonderful if they weren't on the covers and if Harry could sleep sitting up.

"What was that?" he asked.

"Love this," Draco said a bit louder.

Harry felt like his head was going to explode. This was _too much_. "I hate to dislodge you, but I've got to get under the blankets, and also lie down," Harry said. He could have replied more directly to Draco's comment but that would have been very, very dangerous.

Draco groaned. "No."

"I'm cold," Harry said, which was a lie. With Draco on top of him he was comfortably warm, except his feet. His bunny slippers remained in his bag, several feet away from where he could reach. "And I can't sleep sitting up."

"Suck it up," Draco replied. "You've got balls, I've seen them, I've fucking put them in my mouth, so put them to use."

Harry let out a snort of laughter. "C'mon Dray. We can cuddle under the blankets." All of that was a failure, from using the nickname he'd only just invented in the middle of sex to acknowledging the cuddling, which could very well result in Draco waking up enough to realize what was going on and stop immediately.

But instead he just groaned again and rolled off Harry and under the covers in one smooth movement. Harry was more awkward, tugging the blankets out from under himself, knocking his Charms book to the floor with a thud, and rolling his wand off the bed. Harry groaned, picked it up and magicked the lights off before finally sliding under the covers. Draco immediately curled around him and Harry put an arm around him, drawing him closer. That delicious purring noise again.

He had to physically put his free hand over his mouth to prevent something terrible from coming out. "What does this mean?" was the most innocuous question, and thus the least likely. "This has to be more than just sex" wasn't a question, but whether it was a statement or demand, it was still a question in disguise, and Draco had already made the parameters of their relationship perfectly clear, even if cuddling hadn't been mentioned. "I think I might be falling in love with you" was pathetic and awful and would ruin everything. "Do you love me too?" would only complete his humiliation. So his hand stayed over his mouth until he was positive none of those questions, or anything worse, was going to come out. He didn't really think about where he put his hand, but apparently it was in reach of Draco, who took it immediately, and maybe that was why he did something so stupid.

**12**

"Dray?" he asked. There was that nickname again. Plus he was asking something, something he didn't know, and that was not a good plan even a little bit.

"Mm?" Draco replied.

"If you want to take my virginity, I will need that dinner." Bloody hell. That was terrible. He was asking Draco to ask him out. That was really not okay.

Draco sighed. What was a sigh? What did that mean? Was that a good sigh or a bad sigh? Harry managed all of that, and more, in the split second between the sigh and Draco speaking. "If you insist."

Harry froze completely. And then he pushed it. "Not just any dinner," he said. "But a nice dinner. A fancy dinner."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Draco muttered. Was he just saying this because he was mostly asleep? Would he rescind in the morning? Would he even _remember_ in the morning? "Hogsmeade's this weekend, we'll go to Intrépide."

Harry's stomach flipped in the most delicious, terrifying way. "This weekend?" he squeaked.

Draco looked up at him and though his eyes were heavy lidded, he looked remarkably awake and lucid. "We can wait, if you want," he said. "I thought since you brought it up you were eager."

"Candles, too," Harry said, because that was the important part. "Maybe roses."

Draco rolled his eyes. "I know how to take someone on a proper date, Harry."

Harry may have been technically dead for a moment or two. His heart stopped and his breathing stopped and everything except Draco stopped. "Er—"

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Unless you don't want a date? I was under the impression that was what it took to get into your Gryffindor boxers."

"Um, no, a date's fine," Harry stammered. "Good, I mean."

Draco kept his eyes on Harry's, and it was all he could do to not look away. "I am curious as to how much of a date this is," he said eventually. "A one time affair to placate your noble integrity? A series of expensive meals to take advantage of my wealth? It's been done before, I could live with that. I enjoy a nice dinner as much as anyone. Or are we redefining our relationship already, after only three days of working together?"

That made it sound exceedingly foolish and impossible to say yes. Which was obvious, because Harry had already run through all the reasons why he couldn't ask Draco out and why they couldn't date and why this needed to stop and no, going out on a date and then having sex, losing his virginity, in fact, was not stopping, but not betraying his feelings was some sort of stopping, sort of.

"What sort of redefining did you have in mind?" Goddammit. He needed to stop talking. Right now. Actually, several "right now"s ago. Did he know any charms for that? There must be one. But his wand was somewhere on the floor and, oh, right, Draco was still holding his hand, and maybe that meant this was okay, maybe.

Draco still had his eyes on Harry's. "Well, I suppose it wouldn't be much of a change, really. You've already established we're exclusive. We're fooling around and sharing a bed. You asked yourself on a proper date via my lips, to which you agreed. Perhaps more accurately I agreed, I couldn't exactly tell, you were a bit muddled." A bit muddled. That was one way of saying it. Especially since it seemed an awful lot like Draco might not mind going out with him. "You call me Dray, which no one other than my mother is allowed to do, and I have yet to physically harm you for it. So tell me, Harry, what about that would you change?"

"I—um—" Harry was stammering, a very bright red, and his heart kicked into overdrive. The label, that's what he wanted to change. He didn't want an arrangement or a business agreement, he wanted the real, official label for what they were doing. Because it wasn't possible to date with no strings, right?

…or was it?

That was a bad thought.

"Are there strings?" he blurted out.

Draco gave him an odd look. "What do you mean, strings? Are you asking if I would expect anything from you in exchange for dates? Because I'm already getting sex, I don't think there's anything more you could offer."

_My heart_, Harry thought stupidly. _I could offer you my heart_. Only that was a stupid cliché and no. "That's not what I meant," he said instead.

Draco frowned. "Then what did you mean?" Harry squeezed Draco's hand, and Draco suddenly understood. His eyes flew open and he jerked, but he didn't jerk _away_, just in surprise, nor did he take his hand back. "You want to know if we'd be dating, or if I was just taking you out on a date to get into your pants."

Harry closed his eyes. He couldn't look at Draco anymore. He was about to be kicked out of bed, completely and utterly humiliated, have his heart stomped on, and he couldn't watch Draco's face as he took delight in doing it. "Yeah, suppose so."

"Well I think our agreement did state there was to be nothing other than sex," Draco said, and yes, this was all of those things, except he was still holding Draco, and somehow that was much, much worse than leaving. "No emotions, or strings, as you put it. You want to change that?"

Harry focused all of his energy on melting into the bed and simply disappearing. This wasn't happening, it couldn't be happening, he had thought it over, thought about it loads, and decided it was stupid and awful and would end in exactly this feeling. "I don't know," he mumbled. "I was just bringing it up since, y'know, the date, and the sex."

"This was just a business arrangement," Draco said, and that was some sort of nail in a coffin that may have been Harry's heart. He bloody well _knew_ that, that was what made this conversation so stupid.

"I know," he said, and he did a passable imitation of sounding normal. "I don't know, I've never been in this sort of relationship before, I don't know what's allowed and what isn't."

There was a long moment of silence. It seemed to span hours, but it almost certainly didn't. "I did say 'was'," Draco said slowly. "Past tense."

Harry's eyes flew open. Draco was no longer looking at him, he was staring off to the right, and he had a pink tinge to his cheeks that was very different from the one that came with sex. So what, exactly, was Harry supposed to say? Had Draco confirmed they were past business? Or had he been asking?

"So is it more than that?" Harry asked as if he was just curious and it didn't matter, like maybe if he'd asked about the weather, or bets on how the next Quidditch game would turn out, or possibly as if he was dreading and needing the answer and he was about to scream or melt or explode.

"I don't know," Draco said, eyes still distant. "I'm more familiar with casual sex than anything past than that."

Was—could he be as nervous as Harry? No, that was a stupid thought, nobody could be, but still, he might be a little nervous. Definitely unsure. Should Harry push it, or beg off and let things go back to how they were?

What a stupid question. He was a Gryffindor, he was Harry Potter, pushing it was in his nature, as ingrained as breathing. "Well it sort of seems like it is," he said. "With the date and the sex and the cuddling. But if you want things to stay how they are, that's fine. Even if you don't want to go out to dinner—"

"No, I do," Draco interrupted.

"Well, erm, for reasons other than sex," Harry continued, "you could take that back, and we could just keep fooling around. Or you could not take it back and we could keep fooling around. Whatever you want." That was fairly casual. Harry was a little proud of himself. Unless it was a complete train-wreck, which was also possible.

"I'm not going to take it back," Draco said. "I'll give you an out, though. If you don't want to have sex afterwards, we haven't got to."

Harry's stomach dropped. That sound so much like he was keeping as business only, that he didn't want Harry to be emotionally involved. "I suppose that depends," Harry said, and he really didn't want to be doing this, melting into the mattress sounded much nicer, but apparently it was going to happen regardless of his intentions.

"On whether or not we're dating," Draco said bluntly.

"Er, yes?" he said, then realized that was a question, not an answer. "Yes."

"I thought that might be true," Draco said, once again capturing Harry's eyes. "You said you were fine with losing your virginity to me, without expecting anything more, but I found it exceedingly unlikely."

"But you still agreed to take me out to dinner and have sex," Harry said, trying to take the focus off himself. "Knowing I wanted more."

"Yes, I did," Draco mused. "I—I suppose we could try something else, something more than business. If you wanted to."

Definitely legally dead, then. Harry's heart stopped for so long it was starting to get painful and he was vaguely worried he was actually going to die, which really only mattered because then he wouldn't be around to see this through. "That would be all right," he choked out. "If you didn't mind." This was stupid in so many ways. For Merlin's sake, they were eighteen, they ought to be able to ask someone out properly.

"I wouldn't mind," Draco said with some conviction. Not a lot, but more than either of them had managed. "It would be on a trial basis, of course."

"Yeah, course," Harry said. He wasn't going to sink into the mattress anymore, he was going to float away. Wasn't that how all relationships started anyway, just without acknowledging it? The first few weeks, they were always nervous and shaky and testing the ice. This wouldn't be any different, he thought. Then again, it was Draco, so it probably would be. Harry suddenly grinned. "Does that mean I get to call you Draco outside of the bedroom?"

Draco chewed on his lower lip. "I—okay."

Harry's heart soared. Hermione was right, he was practically bipolar, the way he had been acting. But really, it wasn't his fault, it was Draco's. He'd just have to hope that Draco was more stable than him and didn't drop below yes-I-want-this territory.

"This is all rather sudden, you know," Draco said, and that sounded like it might not be good, but he'd already agreed and he wouldn't go back on it, would he? "You have to understand, even our friendship is new, let alone sex, or dating."

Sex came before dating? Harry supposed it usually did for Draco.

"I—it had crossed my mind, I suppose, once I realized you were gay." He suppressed a smile. "Hell, I probably knew before you, given how thick you are. But my point is that there aren't many gay boys here, so, you know, of course it crossed my mind. But nothing like this—having you in my bed, wanting me for more than my body, no, that was never something I considered beyond a passing thought."

"Yeah, I know the feeling," Harry said with a tentative smile. "I'd never even kissed a boy, remember?"

Draco returned his smile. "Yeah. You're missing my point, though. I never thought you'd want this, so I didn't bother considering it. I do my best to avoid any and all topics that might lead to getting hurt, especially after—well, you know. So this, going past purely business, it's…"

Harry stared at him in awe. "Are you afraid I might break your heart?"

Draco frowned. "No, _Potter_, nothing so dramatic. But it certainly wouldn't be pleasant if you changed your mind after I had already made up mine. So…"

"So, what?" Harry asked quietly.

Draco let out a puff of air. "I don't know. That's why this was business, so I wouldn't have to know. Let's just take this slow, all right? Call me Draco if you must, but I'd rather the whole school not know we're seeing each other."

So they were seeing each other, and that was enough. Harry would do anything to keep it that way. "I can stick to Malfoy if you'd rather."

Draco smiled again. "No, I rather like Draco." Then he frowned again. "I suppose that's enough to get the school talking, isn't it?"

"Yeah, probably," Harry said. "Er, definitely."

Draco resumed chewing on his lip. "Well, maybe we should stick to last names for now. At least until we see how our date goes?"

"That sounds fine," Harry said. Really, he'd agree with anything, even if Draco proposed spending a night in the Forbidden Forest to test Harry's fortitude. But he did think it made sense; if he and Draco were an official couple, and if they were going to come out with it, there would be talk. A lot of talk. Especially since nobody knew Harry was gay, though he thought the coupling would overshadow that, at least at first.

"Okay, then," Draco said and, with a small smile, settled back against Harry. "We need to actually work on the poster tomorrow. I wouldn't mind some extra spending money at Hogsmeade."

That comment flew over Harry's head completely. "Dray? Er, Draco, sorry?"

"Dray's fine," he muttered, and he was definitely not sleepy, so was he embarrassed? That would be awfully cute.

"Dray, then," Harry amended. "The way you kiss me, and how we cuddle. Is that normal for you, for just sex?"

Harry could actually feel Draco's blush on his bare skin. "No," he said quietly. "No, not at all. You're the first person I've spent the night with, in fact, even if the first time was just because I accidentally trapped you and you fell asleep on my floor."

"Well this certainly isn't an accident," Harry said.

"No," he said softly. Then he looked up at Harry again. "Did you bring spare robes?"

Harry grinned. "And clean boxers."

Draco grinned back. "Aren't you clever." He started to settle back down, then frowned and looked up at Harry again. "You've ruined my afterglow, you bastard."

Harry's eyebrows shot up. "Er, what? I'm sorry?"

"I was all tired and sleepy and happy and floaty and then you had to go and ruin it with conversation," Draco said angrily.

Harry smiled devilishly. "Do you need a repeat performance?" he asked.

"No," Draco said. "I'm not wanking again, not when I've got you in my bed. This is your fault, Harry. It's your job to fix it."

"I'd be delighted to."

**13**

Waking up Friday morning was not nearly as pleasant as the kisses he had received the day before, and was a lot more reminiscent of the foot digging into his ribs of Wednesday.

"Harry, wake the fuck up."

He groaned and rolled over, pulling the blankets over his head.

"_Harry_!" The blankets were yanked off him and Harry yelped. "We've already missed breakfast, for the _third_ day in a row, and I am _not_ going to show up late to Potions with you _again_, it's _humiliating_."

Harry was not enamored with this side of Draco, especially because he was right. He dressed quickly, gathered his things that had been strewn around the room, and they half-ran to the classroom. They weren't late per se, but they were still the last two to arrive, and looking disheveled at that. Ron and Hermione were staring at them, Ron's eyes bugging out, and while Harry was more focused on his own friends, he was well aware they were definitely getting looks from the Slytherins as well.

"And now that the last of our students have chose to grace us with their presence, we shall begin," Slughorn said. Harry glanced at the clock. Five minutes past. Ah, so they were late. Brilliant.

In an attempt to make up for any suspected camaraderie Malfoy was being exceptionally unpleasant. He had Harry redo the bat spleens eight times, a record even for him, because they were too "mushy", which didn't even make sense, because they were spleens. The ginger wasn't chopped finely enough, the honey needed to be thickened, the cockroaches still had bits of leg attached, the list went on and on. They had barely started brewing when class ended, and the look of annoyance Harry shot Draco as they parted was all too real.

"God, he's such a bloody prat," Harry muttered as they walked to their next class. "_Eight_ spleens. _Eight_. Slughorn said he was going to charge me for the last five. Any idea how much bat spleens cost?"

"Not a clue," Ron said. "Y'know what else I haven't got a clue about?"

"What's that?" Harry replied tersely.

"Why you haven't slept in the dorms for the past three nights," Ron said. "Why you've been sneaking out with your cloak. Or why you keep showing up with Malfoy."

"I've been going for walks," Harry said. "It keeps my mind off—well, you know." It was sinking very low indeed to use the war as an excuse when he was off snogging Malfoy, but it was the first thing that came to mind.

"I thought you said you were working on a project with Malfoy," Hermione said. "Wandering the castle all night together instead?"

"No," Harry replied irritably. "Both. Project with Malfoy, a quick nap on enchanted cushions on the floor, and then walking the halls. I'm sleep short; can't you tell by how I completely mangled _every single ingredient_?"

"You have been awfully temperamental lately," Hermione said. "I suppose that could be caused by a lack of sleep."

"Or by trying to hide a secret relationship with Malfoy," Ron added. "If you napped at Malfoy's and then went for a walk, you'd hardly be arriving together, now would you?"

Harry glared at him. "I left my bag in his room. And what, exactly, makes you think we're together? How brilliantly he treated me in class? How he follows me around like a simpering schoolgirl? How I'm clearly head over heels for my _sworn enemy_?"

Ron had the decency to look abashed, and Harry was really not looking forward to telling him the truth, whenever that would be. _If_ that would be, he reminded himself. They were on a trial run. Harry knew they had agreed to act normally during the day, but it couldn't be good for their relationship to fight all the time, even if it was a show. But it would be okay, it would have to be, their date tomorrow night would be perfect and then, well, after that would be even more perfect, and everything was going to be fine and there was nothing to worry about and he might even believe it if he could just get Malfoy's cantankerous voice out of his head telling him once again to redo those bloody bat spleens.

It was going to be okay.

Really.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Again, I'm so sorry this is late! It's Restaurant Week and my sister and I went out for a Fancy Meal. So yummy! And now it's time for yarn! Today is a good day :D

**Chapter Four**

**14**

Lunch was uneventful. There was no accidental-on-purpose-to-pass-a-note bumping-into as Harry left. He fidgeted his way through his afternoon classes. Was it just assumed he'd go to Draco's at ten to work on the poster? Draco had been rather insistent about finishing it. Sort of, when they weren't fooling around. But surely Draco would have invited him and not assumed, right? That was a weird thing to assume after only two days.

On the other hand, what if he was sick of Harry? What if he needed a break? What if those extra Galleons for Hogsmeade weren't enough of an incentive to work together? What if he was regretting everything he'd said last night and just wanted to be left alone? Was their date cancelled? They hadn't set a time or made any real plans at all, so if Draco didn't get in touch, then it was definitely off.

Harry had worked himself up so much that by the time they left their last class of the day, Hermione quietly pulled him aside and asked if he was okay.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Harry said distractedly.

"No, you're not," she said gently. "You're pale, shaky and sweaty and I'd think you were coming down with something if you weren't so jumpy. What's going on?"

"It's nothing, I told you," Harry repeated vaguely. There was a Muggle song he had heard over the summer that was dancing just out of reach. He didn't know why it was in his head, but maybe if he could remember the damned thing, it would make sense.

"You didn't take a single note during class," she pressed.

"It's Muggle Studies, I never do," Harry replied. Goddammit, what was it? It was a color, he thought, but that didn't make sense. Songs weren't colors, they were songs. Bloody hell, this was going to drive him insane. And yes, of course he was obsessing over it to give himself a break from obsessing over Draco, he knew that, but whatever worked. "Come on, I want to get a start on homework with Hogsmeade tomorrow and all."

"All right, I suppose," Hermione said, unconvinced but not so much that she'd turn down studying. "Any plans for the day?"

"I don't know," he replied truthfully.

Ron had hung back during this conversation—apparently Hermione thought she'd have a better chance of coaxing it out of him alone—but he joined them as they walked to the library.

Harry's attention was still focused on the song. A color and—Mr. Weasley's Ford Anglia? What? And when had he even been listening to Muggle music in the first place? He'd spent the summer split between Grimmauld Place and the Weasley's. Maybe Mr. Weasley had been messing around with a disc player? That made some amount of sense.

They settled at their customary table and Harry let it go. Homework. Homework was an even better distraction than some stupid song he couldn't remember. Charms first. Which didn't make his stomach clench uncomfortably at the memory of how his last attempt to write the essay had gone. So, since he wasn't distracted by the song or by Draco or by the sound his book had made when it hit the floor after being kicked off the bed, his work would just fly by. No distractions, that was the key.

Halfway through his essay the song came rushing back, along with why he had heard it at all. Mr. Weasley had gotten Ginny a CD player and a few popular Muggle CDs for her birthday, saying it was something she would enjoy while learning about Muggles. For the most part the CDs sat undisturbed, but one had caught on, at least a little, and while Harry had no memory of the artist, there was a song on it called Red, and the first lines, that was what he had been thinking of.

_Loving him was like driving a brand new Maserati down a dead end street_

_Faster than the wind, passionate as sin, ending so suddenly_

Well. Brilliant. That made him feel all kinds of better, and definitely not unduly angry at Ginny for playing it so many times it was now stuck in his head months later. Not guilty, either, because they had broken up a few weeks before her birthday and that may have been the reason why she had listened to a Muggle CD so often, because it was mostly about breakups. Or, y'know, upset because those particular lines were seeming an awful lot like his relationship with Draco at all.

Harry sighed.

Charms. Back to Charms. He'd feel better once he finished his Charms essay.

Of course, that wasn't true at all, but it was the same logic he used to get through Muggle Studies and Potions. _I'll feel better after this essay_, he thought. _I'll feel accomplished, and like I've done something useful. Just one more essay, and I'll feel better_. And while he only felt worse and worse as the night drew on, it was a remarkably effective motivator.

He spent almost none of dinner actually eating, and timed his exit with Draco's, even though he was fairly sure Hermione would notice. "I've got a lot of work," he said as he stood up. "I'll catch up with you in the library."

His plan half-worked. They did meet at the doors.

Draco sneered at him. "Planning another run-in, Potty?"

Harry glared. "As if I'd ever plan to be anywhere near you."

Draco laughed cruelly. "I dunno, this is the second 'accidental' meet-up in the Great Hall this week," he said using air quotes. "Could it be there's something in your feeble little mind you want to say to me?"

Harry was grinding his teeth together and his stomach was tied in fierce knots. "You wish, ferret. Besides, since when do you care so much when I finish eating? I'd almost think you timed your exit to meet _me_." Oh, brilliant, use his own pathetic attempts for contact to tease Draco, letting him know exactly what he was doing.

"Oh, sure, Potty," Draco said, eyes wide, suddenly earnest. "Because all of us, you know, all my friends who are with me, we all just wanted to see you so badly, we couldn't help it. You, on the other hand, arrived alone. Couldn't be bothered to wait for your friends?"

"Just trying to get my work done on time," Harry said, and he had a bit of an idea. "I meant to do Charms last night, but it got away from me. You know how that goes, right?" Draco might have flushed the tiniest bit, but almost certainly it was just in Harry's head. "And I've got Hogsmeade tomorrow. I don't reckon worrying about my work all day would be particularly enjoyable."

Draco sneered again. "Got a date, Potty? Want to stay nice and sharp for it?"

Harry returned the look. "I dunno, _Draco_, have I got a date?" Somewhere along the line the pretend banter, if it had ever been pretend in the first place, had turned into a genuine argument, with genuine hurt feelings. For instance, Draco looked as if he had been slapped, and while his friends had started sniggering at Harry's words, their looks changed from amusement to confusion at Draco's response.

"What's wrong, Draco?" Pansy asked. "What's it to you whether Scarhead's got a date or not?"

Draco regained his composure. "Nothing, of course. I just didn't know he was so desperate for a shag he'd go so far as to proposition me. In your dreams, Potty."

"More like nightmares, if you're in them," Harry shot back. He wanted this to stop, needed it to, but there was no way he could say anything in front of Draco's friends.

Draco reached into his pocket and slowly drew out his wand. Harry gaped at him. Were they really going to duel in the middle of the Great Hall? Was Draco _actually_ going to hex him? No. No way. Not unless he wanted to send a very clear, very obvious signal that anything they might have potentially had was over and done with before it even had a chance to start. Harry wasn't aware he had pulled out his wand either until Ron and Hermione were suddenly at his side, or Ron was physically forcing his arm down.

"Don't do it," he said. "Malfoy's not worth it. He's just a measly little ferret."

Harry shook him off. If Draco was going to curse him, he wasn't going to stand around and let it happen. "It's about time, don't you think?" Harry asked Ron, though the question was directed at Draco. "We haven't had a duel all year. Must've set a new record."

A group of Ravenclaws walked between them, rolling their eyes at the old rivalry. Draco lowered his wand.

"This is clearly not the time or the place," he said, tucking it back into his pocket. "Ten o'clock. There's a hallway on the fifth floor that nobody uses anymore. We'll settle this then." He started to walk away, then turned back. "Oh, and Potty? Don't bring anyone along. I won't have Weasley and Granger ganging up on me."

Harry's stomach flipped. Was this—were they setting up a date? "Then you better come alone, too," he said, almost forgetting to make sure he sounded venomous and angry. "Not that your lot could do much damage, but it'd only humiliate you more if you called for backup and I defeated all of you at once. Unless you want all your friends to see me curse you to hell and back."

"Think I can manage on my own," Draco said silkily. "See you then, Potty." The group of Slytherins left, leaving Harry, Ron and Hermione at the doors. Harry quickly tucked his wand away and they started walking back to the library.

"You're not actually going to go, are you?" Hermione asked nervously. "You could get into so much trouble! Dueling in the halls after hours? And what if something happened to you and we weren't there to help? Surely you wouldn't leave yourself at Malfoy's mercy."

"Of course I'm going," Harry said. "I'm not backing down. He'll spread word over the whole school that I'm a pathetic coward too scared to fight a single Slytherin. And I'll hardly be at his mercy; I have my own wand, remember?"

"Harry," she said anxiously. "Harry, please. Nobody thinks you're a coward. What's defeating Malfoy after killing Voldemort?"

That was quite a reasonable point. "We have unfinished business," Harry said, making it up as he went along. "It's about time I put that prick in his place, don't you think?"

"Yes," Ron said excitedly. "Harry, think I could borrow your cloak and watch from the sidelines?"

"No," Harry said quickly. "I'm sure the first thing he'll do is check for anyone sneaking around, especially under the cloak. Everyone knows I've got it."

Ron's face fell. "Oh, right."

"Don't encourage him!" Hermione exclaimed. "This is a really, really bad idea. A _stupid_ idea."

"I'm full of stupid ideas," Harry replied. "Pretty much everything I've done since I've been at Hogwarts has been a stupid idea. No need to stop now."

They entered the library, and conversation turned to whispers.

"And what about that project?" Hermione asked. "I thought you were doing something together. Doesn't that mean you've been getting along?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "We'll never get along, 'Mione, not in a million years." He looked down at the book and parchment he had left out. Defense Against the Dark Arts. He sighed, flipped open his book, and got back to work. Mostly. At least he finished before the library was closed, spending the remaining two hours in the common room playing chess with Ron while Hermione muttered things about slacking off and half-arsed papers.

At quarter of he went up to his room, Ron trailing behind him.

"You're sure I can't come?" he asked as Harry put his cloak on. "I swear, I won't even bring my wand. I just want to watch you wipe the floor with his face."

"I'm sure," Harry said. He was stuck. Was he bringing his drawing things? A change of clothes? Were they actually dueling? Or, maybe most likely, both? Well he certainly couldn't start going through his dresser without Ron wanting to know what he was doing, so he supposed the point was moot. Wand in hand he left, Ron clapping a hand on his invisible shoulder and wishing him luck.

The thing was, Harry realized, Draco had not specified _which_ fifth floor corridor. If it really was as disused as he said, Harry probably wouldn't know about it in the first place. Merlin, he should have brought his map. He thought briefly about going back to his room to get it when he felt the tip of a wand in the small of his back.

"Turn left," Draco said, voice low.

Harry's heart clenched. They were dueling, then. Which almost certainly meant they were back to enemies. Well, it had been a good run, even if it had only lasted half a week. He had learned what it was like to kiss Draco, how tender and soft his lips were. How it felt to be wrapped in his arms and woken up with kisses. What it was like to be with a boy. All these thoughts and more flew through his head as he followed Draco's whispered directions. They did end up in a corridor Harry had never been in before. He thought they might have been behind the Prefect's bathroom, but he wasn't sure how that could be, since he was pretty sure there _wasn't_ a behind the Prefect's bathroom.

The wand was removed from his back and Harry quickly threw off his cloak, whipped around and pointed his wand at Draco. "Well?" he snapped. "Ready to go?"

Draco gave him a bizarre look as if he had gone insane. His wand wasn't out anymore, either. "You—what?" he asked, bewildered. "Lower that thing, would you? I've suffered enough humiliation at the hands of that holly monstrosity."

Was this a trick, then? To get him to lower his guard? It wasn't going to work. "Come on, Malfoy, stop messing around. I'm not falling for that shit."

Draco let out an exasperated sigh. "Harry, you dolt, we're not _actually _dueling. I couldn't very well invite you over for sex with all my friends standing around, now could I? Even another handily placed note via nothing more than running into you would be suspicious. I'm not known for clumsiness." Harry was still eyeing him, and Draco snapped, "Really, get that bloody thing out of my face before I do curse you."

Harry slowly lowered his wand. "I thought you'd changed your mind."

Draco smiled kindly, the sort of smile Harry hadn't thought him capable of. "No, Harry, I did not change my mind." He stepped forward, cradled Harry's face in his hands and kissed him. Harry put his hands on Draco's shoulders, needing something to hold on to as his pathetic knees went pathetically weak.

"Okay, then," Harry replied huffily, pulling away, trying to save some face. "Did you bring the poster?"

Draco grinned. "As a matter of fact, I did. I see you brought nothing."

"Ron was with me," Harry replied. "I couldn't very well grab a quill and parchment for a duel."

"I had Blaise, Greg and Pansy at my side, yet I managed," Draco said, pulling the parchment out of a pocket much too small to hold it and magicking it to the floor. "It's called a Disillusionment Charm, Potter, or Obliviate if you can't get around it."

"Did you bring quills for both of us?" Harry asked, ignoring the insult.

"Yes, of course," Draco said, rolling his eyes. "I was fairly certain you knew we weren't actually dueling, but on the off-chance you really were that thick, I thought it best to come prepared." He tossed Harry a quill and an inkwell, and considered the poster. "Your rendition of the girl was quite good, by the way. That's still an erasable quill, but I don't think you'll need it for much."

"Thanks," Harry said. The insult mixed in with the compliment threw him off-guard, though he figured that was something he'd probably need to get used to if he was going to be dating Draco. "I've got to be on this side, because I can't draw her upside down. Can you do the motto upside down?"

"Yeah, that's fine," Draco said. He pulled _Hogwarts, A History_ out of the same pocket the poster and quills had come from and walked around to the other side. "Oh, one moment." He took out his wand again, and Harry had to keep from flinching. "_Muffliato. Protego._ Hmm. _Sirupus_. That ought to do it." Without any further ado, they both got to work.

A few minutes in, without looking up or stopping his work, Draco asked, "Did you really think I changed my mind?"

Harry flushed. "I dunno," he mumbled, keeping his eyes on the drawing and his memories on Draco's laughing face. "Bat spleens and all."

Draco groaned. "If you think I'm breaking up with you every time you mangle potions ingredients we're going to have a problem."

"Still, _eight_ spleens?" Harry asked. "I'm commandeering all profits from this poster to pay back Slughorn."

"It would have been one if you'd done it right the first time."

Harry let out an irritated puff of air. "Fine. Never mind."

A few more minutes of silence.

"Plus you were a total prick after dinner."

"Well you followed me out of the Great Hall!" Draco exclaimed. "What was I supposed to do? We're waiting to see how things go tomorrow, remember? I wasn't about to push you against the wall and have my way with you while everyone watched." He paused. "Besides, you were the one who questioned our date."

"You're the one who didn't make proper plans," Harry replied, though it did make him feel a little better that he wasn't the only one who was hurt by the argument.

Suddenly Draco's finger was beneath Harry's chin, tilting his head up, and Harry jerked, accidentally blotting out the girl's face and tried to yell at Draco, but instead he was silenced with a kiss.

"Harry, may I take you out to Intrépide tomorrow night for dinner? Around six, say?"

Harry flushed and couldn't help but smile. "Yes, Draco, you may."

Draco smiled back. "Good, because I already made reservations." He let Harry go, and looked back at the poster. "Thank Merlin for erasable quills."

Harry eyed the stain, and then the quill. "How do I get it to erase, exactly?"

"Tell it."

"Erase?" Harry asked the quill, feeling very awkward. The nib slipped into the quill and an eraser replaced it. "Huh. Handy."

They went back to work. Halfway through they switched places so Draco could do the lettering for the title and Harry went back to scales, since orientation had nothing to do with teeny, tiny arcs. Once the scales were done—which he really didn't think was ever going to happen, and he spent a few moments staring dumbly at the page—he moved onto tail spikes and claws. When he was done with those he stared at the poster. It was actually somewhat impressive, for two teenagers who hadn't done anything like this before.

"Dray, I've got to do the dragon's face," he said. "How's the title going?"

"It's going," Draco said. "I'll scoot over, you can work next to me."

That was actually quite a good proposition, because now they were very close, and in order to stop repeatedly bumping Draco's arm with his drawing arm, Draco rested a hand on his back, and the constant contact more than made up for a day's worth of nerves. This was the first time he had tried a giggling dragon instead of a giggling girl, but it was pretty much the same, except for the snout and exposed fangs. He moved onto the sunflower, which he hadn't had a chance to finish before Draco needed to switch places, and that was more like Twister than art, but that was also fine, because any sort of contact with Draco, no matter how silly or how obstructive it was, was welcome.

Harry sat back again, evaluating. "Do you think we should put a big no sign over it?"

Draco looked up. He had a splotch of ink on his nose, and Harry had to bite back a laugh. "A 'no sign'?" he echoed. "What's a 'no sign'?"

"The big red circle with the slash through it?" Harry said. "Like on no smoking signs and—and that doesn't exist in the wizard world, does it?"

"No," Draco replied with a bit of a smile. "Just leave it how it is. It's fine." He looked at the poster again. "Actually, Harry, that's rather brilliant. How long have you been drawing?"

Harry shrugged. "Tuesday."

Draco gaped at him. "Tuesday?"

"Um, yes?"

Draco groaned and went back to his penmanship. "I had to spend _years_ in calligraphy classes before I could write like this. Father insisted, he said it wasn't proper for a wizard of standing to have messy handwriting, and while I suppose it paid off, _Merlin_ was Madame Halworthy a little bitch and really, there were so many things I'd rather do over my summers than be stuck in penmanship class." He sighed. "So you're done with the drawing, then?"

"Yeah, I've just got to color it in." Harry tapped the inkbottle to change the color, readied his glass of water and paper towels, and went to work. Draco finished the lettering long before he was even close to done with the color and switched over to Arithmancy, taking advantage of the wide corridor to fully layout his charts. Harry rather wished he would switch subjects, since he kept cursing and startling Harry into mistakes, but eventually he learned to tune it out.

It was very late by the time Harry finished. Draco had been silent for a while and Harry had a suspicion he had fallen asleep in the middle of homework again but when he looked over, he was bent furiously over his Arithmancy parchment poking it angrily.

"I'm done," Harry said hesitantly.

"Good for you," Draco said testily.

"Should I—er—go back to my dorm?" he asked.

"If you want," Draco replied, just as irritably. "Or you can stay with me, do your homework and not abandon your boyfriend in the middle of the night to bloody Arithmancy."

"I, um, finished my homework," Harry said guiltily.

Draco shot a death glare at him. "Turns out everyone was wrong about you. Not a Golden Boy at all but an infuriating, evil little prat." Then he sighed. "I guess I can finish this tomorrow." He yawned, and gathered his things. "Want to take the poster to Granger?"

"I think it's a bit late for her to be up," Harry said, then grimaced. "And if she is, she's with Ron, and I really don't want to hear about it."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Give it to her in the morning."

Harry wasn't sure how to proceed. "Yeah, I should probably sleep in my dorm tonight," he said. "People are starting to get suspicious."

Draco glanced at him, then looked away. "Yeah, all right. I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"Or you could come with me," Harry blurted out. "In my dorm, I mean."

Draco flinched. "Spend the night in Gryffindor Tower? I'd be ruined if it got out."

"Oh yes, because me in your bed is much better," Harry said angrily. "Never mind. See you tomorrow." He covered himself in his cloak and started to walk away.

"Harry, wait," Draco said. Harry turned around and Draco walked over to him, roughly speaking. He ended up two feet in front, one to the side, and addressed thin air. "I'll come with you, I'm sorry."

Harry stifled laughter. "I'm sure the air is delighted to hear that."

Draco whirled around, blushing furiously. "Where are you?"

Harry stepped closer and brought Draco under the cloak. "Are you sure?"

Draco pressed their bodies together and kissed him. "Yes."

"Okay then."

They walked silently up to the dorm, Harry whispered "_Percival Wulfric Brian_" and the Fat Lady, who had long ago grown used to invisible late-night requests, swung open without a word.

As it was, Hermione was neither asleep nor off somewhere with Ron. Instead she was surrounded by a pile of books, bent over an essay, with Ron next to her, fast asleep. The rest of the common room was empty. Harry took of the cloak, which Draco clung to for a moment in panic before letting go. Hermione looked up for a moment, then returned to her paper.

"Didn't kill each other, I see," she said. "Hardly a surprise, given your torrid affair."

Draco whirled around to look at Harry. "You _told_ her?"

"No, of course not," Harry snapped. "She's clever." He turned back to Hermione. "That project I've been talking about, we finished, and we want to give it to you."

Hermione stared at them. "What?"

"_Sell_ it to you," Draco corrected.

Hermione continue to stare, especially at Draco. "You made me something?" she asked. "Something that I'd want enough to buy from you?"

"We both did," Harry said. "It was sort of an accident, but now we've got it, and you'd like it more than either of us."

"Well, let's see it, then."

Draco rummaged around in his back pocket and pulled out the poster. It was quite flat from being glued to the floor for so long, and he held it up, looking incredibly repulsed to be offering something to Hermione.

"Oh!" she said. "All those dragons, and my book—this is what you were doing?"

Harry shrugged. "Draco sort of commandeered it."

"I—I see." Then she burst out laughing. "Harry—both of you, really—this is so silly. Thank you."

"Ten Galleons," Draco said. Harry blushed and turned away.

"Dray, we don't—"

"No," Hermione interrupted. "No, he's right. You obviously put a lot of work into this, you deserve to be paid." She rummaged through her purse and pulled out the money. "Here. Again, thank you." She took the poster and set it on the couch opposite her.

"If anybody asks—"

"I was studying all night," Hermione interrupted Draco. "Never saw anything. Harry gave me the poster in the morning."

"Right."

"Goodnight, then," she said. "Pleasant dreams."

"You too," Harry said, covering Draco in the invisibility cloak and leading him upstairs.

**15**

"You're getting in late," Neville said quietly. Draco froze, and Harry nudged him forward as discreetly as he could.

"Yeah, I was out for a walk," Harry whispered. "What're you doing still up?"

"Can't sleep."

Harry quickly changed into his pajamas. "You okay?"

Neville sighed, almost a happy sigh. "Yeah, I'm good."

Harry got into bed and motioned for Draco to come forward, making it look as though he was just stretching. "Sounds like a girl?"

There was a pause. "Could be."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"No, not yet," Neville said. Then he added, "I'm taking her out tomorrow night, at Hogsmeade."

Harry smiled. "Good for you, mate."

"Dinner at Intrépide," Neville said, and Harry's smile froze in place. "D'you think that's too much for a first date?"

"No," Harry said firmly. "No, absolutely not. It's perfect." He paused. "I might even run into you."

Neville rolled over. "Yeah? Who're you going with?"

"Not yet," Harry echoed. "We're taking it slow, seeing how things go before telling anyone." Draco was furious, Harry was sure of it, but he couldn't do anything, and Harry was rather enjoying getting back at him for their after-dinner exchange.

Neville nodded. "Sounds good."

"Yeah. G'night, Neville."

"'Night."

"_Muffliato_," Harry whispered, so quietly he barely said anything at all. He thought back to Draco's charms. "_Sirupus_."

Draco ripped off the cloak and started yelling. "What the fuck did you do that for? We were keeping it secret! Now the whole bloody house knows we're dating."

"No they don't," Harry replied calmly. "Hermione guessed, I told you, and Neville doesn't even know I'm gay. He's not too brilliant at reading people. He probably thinks I'm trying to get back with Ginny or something."

Draco's eyes were fire, but he didn't say anything. Neither did Harry, he just turned the blankets down so Draco could join him.

"Come on," Harry said after a few moments. "Get in."

"You—" Draco spluttered. "Fine." He kicked his shoes off, set his wand, cloak and slacks down and climbed into bed. He was wearing a tight black tee shirt and boxers. "What do you think is going to happen when Hermione and Neville compare notes?" he asked. "It'll be obvious."

"Hermione promised she wouldn't tell," Harry said. "She won't."

"I don't like you," Draco said petulantly. "You're sexy as fuck and I like you a lot, but I don't _like_ you one bit."

Harry kissed him and Draco returned it ferociously. "It'll take some getting used to," Harry said, breaking away. "I wasn't particularly fond of you in potions, or after dinner. Still, you're here in my bed."

Draco kissed him again, more calmly, more tenderly. "I am," he said, and he didn't sound even a little bit angry anymore. "I'm even glad to be in your bed."

And here Harry hesitated, because he was about to ask a question that didn't seem like it was very important, only it really was. "Even if I'm too tired for sex because it's the middle of the night?"

Draco hesitated as well, because he also knew the weight of the question. At least Harry hoped that was why. "Yeah, even then."

Harry smiled brilliantly, and he got cocky. "You sure you only briefly not really considered dating me? Because it seems like it might go deeper than that. Or you're just really big on cuddling," he added, giving him an out.

"Well it did cross my mind, I told you that," Draco said. "I also told you I thought about you in bed, though perhaps not in such blatant terms. I guess—I guess with that combination and your enthusiasm, it just feels natural."

"My enthusiasm?" Harry asked nervously. "You aren't just doing this for me, are you?"

Draco gave him a look of surprise. "No, of course not." He laughed, just a little, just long enough for Harry to hear the arrogance and condescension. "Do you really think I'd pass up a chance to humiliate you if one came along, especially one this juicy? No, Harry, I'm here because I want to be."

"I guess I'm just surprised," Harry said. "When you say you didn't have a crush on me, and now we're here."

"We are on a trial run," Draco reminded him. Harry's stomach knotted. It seemed to be doing that an awful lot lately. "But, yes, one could say I have a crush on you." He looked at Harry, appraising him. "I've answered your questions. I think I deserve some answers myself."

"I've got a thing for you, yeah," Harry said, leaving out the part where it had occurred to him more than once that he might be falling in love because that was not trial-basis talk. "I've wanked to you. I mean, who else is there? Dean and Seamus?" They both laughed. "Still, even if every boy at Hogwarts was bent, it'd be you. You're stunning, you know? You think you know, but you don't really, you couldn't possibly." He was going on, rambling, and that wasn't good, no matter how open and accepting Draco looked. "How much do you want me to say?" he asked honestly.

"Everything," Draco replied. "I mean, I'd rather you not propose to me, or tell me it's all been a joke and you hate me, but I don't think either of those are particularly likely."

Harry laughed. "No, that's not it. I just—I'm pretty sure you're how I realized I'm gay," he said, looking away and blushing furiously. "It's not like I hadn't suspected, but, well…" He trailed off.

"Yes?" Draco asked. "But, well what?"

Harry closed his eyes. "I think maybe when I accidentally let your name slip while snogging Ginny, that might have been a solidifying moment."

Draco made a muffled, choked sort of noise, and Harry thought he was holding back laughter. "I see," he said. "I would have guessed wanking, or general admiration. That's—that's something."

"Shut up," Harry said. "I didn't mean to. Anyway, that's when Ginny and I broke up, and then I sort of forgot about it on purpose when school started because the last thing I needed was to want you, but now I have you, so… on a trial basis, of course," he added quickly, having momentarily forgotten.

"I guess my point is that I've been wanting this for a while, even if I wasn't admitting it to anyone, including myself," Harry concluded.

Draco kissed him tenderly. "As long as you don't say Ginny's name while we're together, we're good."

Harry snorted. "No, that's not going to happen."

"Care to test that hypothesis?" Draco asked suggestively. Then his face fell. "Oh, never mind, I'm sorry, I forgot you're tired. I wasn't trying to push you."

Harry laughed again. "I never would have guessed how considerate you could be. I am tired; we should lie down and get some sleep."

"I would never say no to anything involving cuddling," Draco said, sliding down and into Harry's arms. "About Hogsmeade tomorrow…"

"Mm?" Harry asked, kissing his forehead.

"Do you want to meet up at the restaurant, or are you staying here until it's time, in which case we can walk down together? Were you thinking we would be spending the day together?"

Harry hadn't really considered any of this. He kissed Draco's nose. "I suppose it'll depend on what Ron and Hermione do," he said. "Last time I spent the whole day tagging behind a disgusting, simpering couple, and I'm not thrilled to do that again. If you want to keep this between us until after dinner, we shouldn't be seen in Hogsmeade together at all, let alone walking down together. So I suppose I'll meet you there. Unless you wanted to do something else."

"I wouldn't mind walking with you, if you weren't spending the day there," Draco said nearly casually. "Maybe we could stop by Scrivenshaft's and pick up some quills for drawing and calligraphy, rather than standard ones. I have calligraphy quills at home, but I don't fancy letting Father know he was right and that they'd come in handy one day."

"That'd be good," Harry said, finally kissing Draco's lips. "And I could pick up some colored ink so I stop going through mine so quickly. And maybe a proper blending tool."

"So meet me in the Front Hall at five?" Draco said. "That should give us plenty of time."

"Sounds good," Harry said, kissing him again. Draco sighed happily.

"Oh, and don't forget to wear something nice. If you've got anything, that is."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** I'm so sorry this is going up so late! My day started with a family crisis and it threw my sense of timing off. (everyone is okay, I might just end up in Seattle for a while.)

This is the last chapter, you guys! The end! I hope you like it. The good news is that you will (**Warning:** gay sex between two consenting of age men). The bad news is I have run out of story buffer! Unexpected Effects will be switched over to MWF, but after that, I'm afraid I'm out of stories. Camp NaNo is starting on April first and so for the whole month I'll be working on a non-HP story. Sacrilege, I know.

But! If you guys have any ideas for one-shots, feel free to message me and I'll try to squeeze in some writing time. Any combination of Harry/Draco/Sev is good, Neville/we'll see is good, Lucius/we'll-see-but-not-Narcissa is good.

Enjoy, _mon amis_!

**Chapter Five**

**16**

Draco was smuggled out in the early morning beneath the invisibility cloak.

Hermione and Ron were baffled as to why Harry didn't want to go to Hogsmeade with them. Rather, Ron was, and Hermione played along. Then Neville joined the group and ruined everything by saying Harry had a date, which provoked endless questioning from Ron and, again pretend, questioning from Hermione. Neville started to bother him about it too until Harry reminded him that he was also not disclosing the name of his date. Neville blushed, muttered something about needing to go to the library, and left quickly.

"I'm not leaving until you tell me," Ron said, frog-marching Harry over to the nearest couch and forcing him down. "You know how stubborn I am. I'm not giving up on this."

"Oh, Harry, before I forget—Ron wants a Chudley Cannons poster," Hermione said, and it really did sound as if she'd just remembered.

"I'm not getting distracted," Ron said, keeping his eyes on Harry. "But yeah, if you could make me one, that'd be great. Pig had an incident with my old one."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "How can an owl ruin a poster?"

"That owl can ruin anything," Ron replied. "Now tell me who it is."

This line of questioning continued until just before lunch, through several chess games that Ron won, and even while Ron was writing his potions essay, Hermione having decided if they were going to sit around and do nothing, they might as well do homework.

"Ron, come on, let's go," Hermione said for the third time. "I'm hungry and I want a Butterbeer. Can't we just go already?"

Ron sighed. "Yeah, fine. I give up. Harry, just know that what you're doing is really shitty. It can't be worse than Hermione going out with Krum, and I forgave her for that."

"You're just trying to make me feel bad," Harry said. He was sketching out plans for the Chudley Cannons poster and didn't bother looking up.

"No, I'm not," Ron said. "I'm your best mate. Why won't you tell me?"

Harry started to squirm. "I just—I promised, that's all. I'll tell you tomorrow, one way or another. It's a trial date, to see how things go. And I promise, really, I'll let you know as soon as I do."

Ron considered as he put his things back in his bag. "All right then," he said eventually. "Wake me up when you get back, though. I'm holding you to 'as soon as possible'."

Harry concentrated very hard on his sketch. "Er, yeah."

Ron's eyebrows shot up. "You're not planning on coming back, are you? You're staying out all night again? After a date?"

Harry flinched. "Um. Maybe."

Ron looked around to make sure they were alone. "So you're finally—"

"I don't know, Ron," Harry interrupted. "It depends on how the date goes."

"Judging from that hickey you've been sporting the past few days, I'd say it's going to go pretty well," Ron said.

Harry flushed, hand going to his neck. "I—um—" What was a plausible excuse? "Spell went wrong." He had a very good idea of when that had happened and at least it just looked like a bruise, apparently, rather than bite marks. It was also very good that Draco had a penchant for turtlenecks, so no connections were made.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Still, you've hardly been sleeping here as it is," he said. "Where've you been? The Room of Requirement?"

Still keeping an eye on his paper, he said, "No, just a different dorm room. With a lot of concealment charms."

"Then it can't be a Gryffindor or a Hufflepuff," Ron said immediately. "Boys aren't allowed in the girl's dorms, and only Hufflepuffs can get into theirs. Which I know because I read _Hogwarts, A History_, Hermione."

She smiled. "Very good. Now can we go?"

"Nearly," Ron said. "It can't be a Slytherin, that'd be bollocks. Besides, who'd it be? Millicent?" He laughed. "A Ravenclaw, then. I didn't think you spent enough time with them to notice, but I guess I was wrong." His face fell. "Oh, Luna and Michael didn't break up, did they?"

"Not as far as I know," Harry replied. "Luna's not my type anyway."

"Well then who—"

"Ron, come _on_," Hermione said, exasperated, pulling on Ron's arm.

He turned to her, understanding dawning on his face. "You know," he said. "You know and that's why you're not asking Harry, because you know."

"I don't, I'm just not nearly as impatient as you," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "And I'm hungry. For once it's me fixated on food, not you. Can we please eat?"

"I hate this," Ron said angrily. "You two not telling me. My best friend and my girlfriend, sneaking secrets behind my back."

Hermione sighed. "I guessed, okay? Harry didn't tell me. He was quite upset with me, in fact. He made me promise."

"And you promised me no secrets!" Ron said. Fake upset meant to cause guilt had turned into genuine anger, and it made Harry miserable. He and Ron had been through everything together, they were closer than best friends, and he did want to tell him, but he'd promised Draco, and also he thought Ron might hit him if he knew. Hit him, chain him up, and then go hit Draco. But still, mostly the friends thing.

Hermione looked pleadingly at Harry, but he kept his eyes on the parchment. How many Quidditch players would Ron want? The whole team, or just the Seeker? Certainly having only one would make his life easier. Yes, he thought he'd go with that.

"How long have you known, then?" Ron asked angrily.

"Just a few days," Hermione said. "And you're going to find out in a few hours, so just let it go for now, would you? I really am hungry. And sorry," she added quietly.

Ron sighed, but stood up, bag slung across his shoulder. "Fine. But I'm not letting either of you off this easy. Harry, that poster there, it's going to be half-price, all right?"

"Yeah, sure," Harry said.

"And 'Mione, that thing I've been wanting to do, we're doing that tonight, to distract me."

She flushed. "A—all right."

"Okay then. See you later, Harry. Have a good date."

"See you."

**17**

Harry had a quick lunch by himself in the Great Hall, which was fairly exclusively filled with first and second years. It was not a comfortable feeling. Anyone his year was either at Hogsmeade or too busy studying to bother with lunch, and he'd long ago stopped trying to keep track of everyone's name. He knew all the faces, of course, but with the exception of Amarie Lexington, a second-year Chaser, they were nameless.

After, he stole Ron's Galvin Gudgeon figurine to practice with. He also snagged a banner, to get their logo right. It was a lot of stealing, especially from a friend who was already upset with him, but he thought the end result was worth it. Besides, he'd have them back before Ron even knew they were gone. He was having a lot of trouble with the face, especially since six-inch plastic figurines are not the height of accuracy, but it was all he had to work with. He also copied the logo nearly exactly so Draco would have something to go off without requiring any further theft.

Then, quite suddenly, it was five of five and he was rushing around, putting Ron's things back, struggling into the only quasi-presentable clothes he owned short of dress robes and sprinting down to the first floor where, of course, Draco was already waiting for him.

"Sorry," Harry panted. "I lost track of time. We've got another poster to make, and I was—"

"Do you know you look like you've just been shagged?" Draco cut in. Harry gaped at him. "Your hair's a wreck, you're flushed and you can't breathe. I ought to make you run laps around the grounds if that's what you look like afterwards."

"I—right, no, I'm not running laps," Harry said. "Ron wants a Chudley Cannons poster. We'll need to get a lot of orange. Also, he's getting it at half price."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "And why would that be? Would ten Galleons wipe out his entire family's vault?"

Harry smacked his arm. "Because I promised you I wouldn't tell anyone about our date and then he found out I was going out with someone, and I wouldn't tell him who. It's your fault."

Draco shrugged. "Fine. Just make sure he pays in four Galleons and eighteen Sickles so we can split it evenly."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You can have the extra Galleon, how's that?"

"Acceptable. Now, are we going, or are we just going to stand around all night?"

"We're going," Harry said with a sigh. "It wouldn't hurt you to be a little nicer, you know."

Draco looked at him with a small smile. "I _am_ being nice. I'm letting Weasley get a poster half off. One that will no doubt deplete our entire stores of orange, rendering the profit margin so minimal it's hardly worth it."

"That's not being nice, that's a condition of me remaining friends with Ron," Harry said. "By the way, what are we telling people when they ask why we're together?"

"That we're getting inks for our poster business," Draco replied. "We'll tell them how satisfied Hermione was and we can draw anything they'd like within a week, and if they don't hurry they'll end up on the bottom of the waiting list and won't have their poster completed until after we've all graduated."

Harry rolled his eyes. "All right, then. You get to do the explaining."

"Fine with me."

They walked in a companionable silence, passing only a few students on their way back—most were staying for dinner, or had already returned to eat at Hogwarts. Five was not a high traffic hour. The ones they did pass were either young enough they didn't realize the strangeness of the situation or merely gave them an odd look before moving on.

Once inside Scrivenshaft's they split up, Draco going to find quills and Harry to find ink. He came across a set of rainbow colored inks and, after a lot of comparing bottles that were virtually identical, chose the exact color of the Chudley Cannons. When he looked at the name of the color he could have smacked himself—_Chudley Cannon Orange_. Well, at least he had a good eye for color. He also spent a while trying to decide on a good skin color and eventually chose a pale peach he could magic to a better shade if it ended up being off. Finally he got himself several jars of black, as last night's coloring had all but decimated his every day stash.

He met up with Draco by the quills. "Not finding the right thing?"

"No, I've got the calligraphy quills right here," he said, holding up several quills that were no doubt different in ways Harry couldn't see. "I'm not sure about coloring, though. Do you want broad, wide strokes, or finer detail?"

"Both?" Harry asked. "You've got several, I think I'm entitled."

"Yes, of course," Draco said, a bit dismissively. He reached for one, then pulled back. "Pheasant or Owl?"

"Er, whatever you think," Harry said awkwardly.

"Pheasant, then, Might as well expand your collection." He chose several of varying sizes, and inspected Harry's selections. "That's a lot of ink."

"It's a lot of colors," Harry corrected. "Plus school ink."

Draco shrugged. "If you say so. I won't do any rainbows, though. That'll be your job."

"You're the one insisting on turning this into a business," Harry said as they walked to the counter. "We draw what our customers want. If they want rainbows we'll give them rainbows."

Draco scowled. "Fine. But you pay for the ink then."

**18**

They had their purchases sent to Hogwarts via owl, and then it was a little awkward, because it was time for Intrépide and it was their first date and if Harry wasn't careful it was going to be their only date and that only made him more awkward which made it less likely Draco would want to go out with him again which lead to more awkwardness and it was a self-perpetuating cycle that was impossible to stop. Plus, Harry had no idea how to go on a date.

Like how they were walking, for instance. They were close enough that their hands kept bumping together. Did that mean Harry should hold his hand? Would that be too much? What if someone saw? Who was supposed to initiate such contact? Being gay wasn't new, but being in a relationship with a boy was, and since it was Draco Malfoy, it was going to be very, very difficult no matter what he did.

Then they were outside the restaurant so it didn't matter anymore. Draco faced him and neatened his jacket and attempted to smooth his hair, which did nothing. Then, in a move completely surprising Harry, he kissed him, that same soft and sweet kiss Harry still hadn't gotten used to.

"_Harry?_"

He jumped back. Neville and, dear Merlin, Ginny were walking towards them. Neville's mouth was hanging open and Ginny looked like she was about to punch him, or maybe Draco, he didn't know, but this was not good.

"Er, hi Gin," he said awkwardly. "And Neville. Didn't know your reservations were for six."

"Um, yeah, they are," Neville stammered. "Yours too, then?"

"Yeah," Harry said. He rubbed the back of his neck. "So, you and Ginny, then?"

"Yeah," Ginny replied harshly. "He even calls me by my name."

Harry flinched, blushed, and rubbed his neck harder. "That's good," he said. "That you're dating. And the name thing. Definitely good."

"Y'know, Harry, I'm almost impressed," Ginny said coldly. "I didn't think you'd actually have the balls to go after that—that ferret." She was clearly restraining herself, and Harry wasn't sure at all how much longer she could hold off. Draco hadn't said anything, and that was making Harry very nervous.

"So we should go in," Harry replied quickly. "Have a good date."

"You too," Neville said vaguely.

Draco and Harry avoided conversation until they were seated, and then only food was mentioned. But once they ordered and their menus were taken away there was nothing left to do other than discuss what just happened.

Other than not talking at all, apparently.

The stomach knots were back. How was Draco supposed to want a repeat of this when they couldn't even look each other in the eye? He might as well just leave now; there wasn't any point in drawing it out. It would just make him more miserable, pretending that this was something it clearly wasn't. He'd just go back to Hogwarts and go to bed and maybe take a bit of a sleeping draught because his bed almost certainly smelled like Draco and sleep would not be available if that was the case.

"Glad that's out of the way."

Harry's eyes shot up, meeting Draco's. He was smiling. Smiling? What?

"Um, what?"

"Well the Weasleyette is almost certainly the most difficult person to inform of our relationship, and now it's done," Draco said lightly. "I don't fancy telling my friends, especially Pansy, who's still convinced one day I'll realize I'm not gay and fall in love with her. Still, though, that went quite well, all things considered."

Harry was staring at him. "You—you're okay with this? I thought we were waiting? Trial run? Secret?" His sentences grew shorter as his thoughts tangled further and further.

Draco shrugged. "I've had enough of a trial period, last night proved that. As long as you're okay with it."

"Uh," Harry said intelligently. "Yes. Should I ask you out properly, then? Since we just sort of stumbled into this sort of by accident and then it was more and then even more, so maybe—"

"Harry, go out with me?" Draco asked, still that small, sweet, happy smile dancing across his face.

"Um," he said, still sounding quite intelligent. It wasn't that he didn't want to say yes, because he very much did, it was just that he was very confused and had forgotten his words. "Yes. Very yes." Oh, wonderful. So intelligent.

Draco's smile widened. "Excellent. Shall we move on, then, out of any residual awkwardness and to more interesting topics of conversation?"

"Yeah," Harry said, starting to reorganize himself. "So this poster business, it's actually pretty fun. Who knew I liked drawing?"

Draco's look was so sweet and so tender it made Harry's heart ache. Good ache, though. Finally, a good ache. "I have to say, Father did know I'd need calligraphy one day, though I don't think Chudley Cannons posters were what he had in mind."

Harry laughed. "No, probably not."

**19**

All awkwardness vanished until they returned to Hogwarts and Harry started up the stairs to his dorm, still talking and gesturing wildly about a Quidditch move he'd seen in the most recent magazine, trying to demonstrate three different players with only two hands.

"Harry?" Draco interrupted, standing at the bottom of the stairs.

Harry turned around. "Yeah?"

"Just out of curiosity, where are you going?" Draco asked.

Harry flushed slightly and dropped his hands. "Um, I'm not sure. I suppose I was going to my room. Is that wrong?"

"I'm not sure," Draco echoed. "What are your plans for this evening?"

Harry walked back down next to Draco. He hadn't been nervous or anxious, hadn't been thinking about anything past their date because he'd been to busy enjoying himself, and suddenly the reality of _why_ they had been on the date in the first place came crashing down.

"Oh, um." Harry shuffled his feet and looked somewhere over Draco's right shoulder. "We could go someplace more private."

"Do you want to?" Draco asked, trying to catch Harry's eye. When that failed, he took his hand and squeezed gently. "Harry, we don't have to do anything you don't want to do. Our business arrangement has been nullified in favor of actually dating. What would you like?"

"I'm not sure," Harry said quietly. "I mean. I'm not used to dating. Especially not a guy. And, um, I'm—well, you know."

"A virgin, yes," Draco said with a smile. "But none of that relates to what you want to do now. Is our date over? Should I give you a goodnight kiss and send you on your way? Would you like to come down to my room and start the Chudley Cannons poster? Would you like to come down to my room and do something else entirely? Do you want to go to your room? Somewhere else?"

"Um, those are options," Harry replied coherently. "We could go to your room."

"Is that what you'd like?" Draco asked. "You don't sound very convinced."

"Yeah," Harry said firmly. "Yes, that's what I'd like."

"Okay then," Draco replied, leading them down to the dungeons. "Do you want to try out the new inks and quills?"

Harry spent a while considering. "No," he said, halfway down the stairs. "I don't want to draw."

Draco was holding back a smirk. "Have you decided anything beyond that?"

"Um, yes," Harry said suddenly. "Yeah, I'd like to, er."

"Er?" Draco asked. "Shall I 'er' you all night?"

Harry flushed. "Um. Yeah."

Draco laughed. "Sounds like a plan. You know you're going to have to walk through a common room filled with Slytherins with me, and then into my room and behind a concealment charm, right?"

"Oh," Harry said quietly. That hadn't occurred to him. "Er, yeah. My friends already know, yours might as well, too."

"You may be cursed on sight," Draco warned.

Harry squeezed his hand. "I'll survive."

Draco smiled and kissed his cheek. "Okay, then. _Anguis_."

They walked through the stone hallway and into the green lit common room. It was mostly full, students talking and laughing, relaxing on a Saturday night. It didn't occur to Harry that they were still holding hands as they crossed the room until slowly everyone fell silent and all eyes were trained on them. On their hands, specifically. Harry kept his eyes forward and Draco tightened his grip, but other than that behaved normally, slinging insults and the occasional genuine greeting. He ignored Pansy entirely, who was staring openly, jaw dropped.

The walk up to Draco's dorm was quiet, and his room was as well, as Blaise and Goyle didn't seem to have anything to say. Draco wished them a goodnight, and set up his regular protection charms. Then he turned to Harry, sliding off his cloak and taking off his tie.

"Harry," Draco said smoothly. "I need you to tell me right now what we're doing."

"Well right now I'm watching you undress," Harry replied. "After that, we're doing whatever you want."

"I see," Draco said, letting his tie fall to the floor and starting on his button down shirt. "No restrictions?"

Harry swallowed. "No restrictions."

Draco slipped out of his shirt. "Just to be clear," he continued, moving on to his belt buckle. "I've mentioned I'd like to bottom with you. Are you interested in that, or should I top?"

Harry had a lot of trouble focusing while Draco was stripping and talking about sex. "Whatever you want," he said, needing to clear his throat partway through his sentence. "I don't really know what I'm doing."

"I'm aware," Draco replied, continuing onto his trousers. "I'll talk you through it. But seriously, Harry. This is your virginity. It's up to you."

Harry licked his lips, watching carefully as Draco stepped out of his trousers, leaving only his pants. "I, um…"

Draco smiled slyly and stepped forward, resting his hands on Harry's shoulders. "Harry dear. If you'll note, I'm _very_ interested in this continuing in _any_ way you see fit." He thrust his hips forward, and Harry groaned as Draco's erection brushed his. "So please, just tell me what you want and I'll do it."

Harry kissed him, pulling their bodies together and rubbing against Draco, who whimpered quietly. Harry slipped his tongue into Draco's mouth, claiming him and tasting him and exploring and mapping. Draco continued to move against him, taking control of the kiss. Harry wasn't exactly sure how it happened, but suddenly he was naked, though his lips never parted from Draco's. Then he was being pushed back onto the bed, Draco lying on top of him, still never breaking the kiss. Harry was whimpering and running his hands over his body, dipping below the band of his pants, needing as much contact as he could. It didn't seem fair that he was entirely naked while Draco still had his pants on but he wasn't in a position to fix it.

Then Draco pulled back, flushed, lips swollen and red, panting slightly. "Not that I couldn't do this all night, but have you made a decision?"

Harry blinked up at him. "Decision?"

Draco smiled. "Top, bottom, or hold off and do something else?"

"Take off your pants," Harry said, tugging on the band.

"Mm, yeah, I'd agree with that," Draco sighed, somehow managing to slide out of them while still on Harry. Then their erections were touching, and Harry grabbed Draco's hips and thrust up, grinding them together. Draco's eyes slipped closed and he moaned. Then he stilled and gathered himself. "Unless you want me to come like this, which is fine, I just need to know, you need to make a decision now."

"I want you," Harry said, pushing himself up on his elbows and kissing Draco. "I don't know what I'm doing but I want to top."

Draco shivered. "Yeah, okay, good. Have you done anything on your own?"

Harry flushed. "Er, a little. Just a finger."

"Okay, that's fine," Draco replied, reaching over to his nightstand and creating a delicious friction as he did so. Harry whimpered as Draco moved off him entirely and lay next to him, handing him a jar. "Here. Start with one finger and go from there."

Nervousness washed over him as he dipped his finger into the gel. He hadn't exactly lied when he said he'd done this before to himself, but it had only been once and he didn't know what he was doing even a little bit. Draco was sprawled out next to him, lying on his stomach, looking at Harry with expectant, dark, heavy lidded eyes.

"Draco, I'm not sure—"

Draco smiled lazily. "One finger," he said, holding up a finger. "Do I need to tell you what to do with it?"

Harry kissed him. "No," he said, trailing a hand down his back. "Probably not," he added quietly, moving his hand down and resting his finger against his hole. Draco shivered again. Gathering his courage and pretending he had an idea of what to do, Harry gently pushed his finger in. Draco gasped, thrusting up to meet him. Harry kept his eyes on his expression and started moving his finger in and out, watching as Draco's eyes closed and he drew his lip between his teeth. He pulled out and Draco whimpered.

"Be patient," Harry said, smiling a little. Apparently he wasn't completely hopeless. He added more lube and slid two fingers in. Draco whimpered again, moving against him, and when Harry slowly spread his fingers, he moaned. "I'm not hurting you?" he asked nervously.

"Good lord no," Draco sighed. "You're fine. Add another."

"Already?" Harry asked, still pumping his fingers, carefully watching Draco's expression, just in case.

"Yeah, I'm good," Draco said, thrusting up. "More. And don't pull out again, just go." He laughed breathily. "You really are new at this."

"Shut up," Harry said, pushing a third finger in. "I'm nervous enough, don't make fun of me."

"I'm not—" He broke off into a low groan. "Merlin, fuck yes, there."

Harry hesitated. "Uh—yeah, okay."

Draco laughed again. "Up, curl and to the side."

"You are making fun of me," Harry accused, though he moved his fingers to where Draco said, basking in the moan he elicited. Then he stayed just to the side, otherwise stroking and stretching. "I don't like you making fun of me."

Draco sighed irritably. "I don't like you teasing me."

Harry responded with a kiss, stroking his tongue and scissoring his fingers. Draco moaned again, kissing back and thrusting against him. The he jerked back, panting.

"Now," he breathed. "Fuck, Harry, now, _please_."

Harry froze. "Um. Now?"

Draco whimpered. "I know this is about you, and I shouldn't be needy or domineering, but _yes_ _now_."

Harry bit his lip and withdrew his fingers. "Okay. Okay, now is good."

Draco rolled over. His entire body was flushed, his eyes were nearly black and he was still panting. "Are you sure?" he asked, voice cracking. "I don't want to rush you, really."

"I want to," Harry said shakily. He swallowed. "Really. I'm just nervous."

Draco pulled him down for a kiss, deep and thorough. "Let me help," he said, breaking away. He scooped out an ample amount of lube, spread it on his hands and took Harry in hand. Harry let out a quick puff of air and jerked forward at the contact. Draco stroked slowly, covering every inch and continuing just a bit past what was strictly necessary. He kissed Harry again. "Whenever you're ready," he said softly.

Harry ran a hand down Draco's chest, coming to a stop just above his waist. "You're beautiful," he said, then immediately regretted it when Draco's eyes widened in surprise. "I—I mean, you know. Naked and stuff." He winced, trying and failing to recover. "Never mind."

"No, Harry, don't apologize," Draco said quickly. "You're wonderful. And not half bad looking yourself." He gave Harry a sideways smile and spread his legs. "Still beautiful?"

"Fucking amazing," Harry replied, moving between his legs. He slid his hands beneath Draco's hips and lifted him so he could wrap his legs around his waist. "Are you ready?"

"Whenever you are," he said again, eyes fixed on Harry's cock. "As long as it's soon."

Harry guided himself in place and slowly pushed in. They gasped together, Harry stilling as soon as his head was in. "You're okay?"

"Yes, perfect," Draco groaned. "More."

Harry slid in slowly, barely moving at all. Draco was whimpering and thrusting up, trying to get more contact. Finally Harry was buried completely in him, eyes closed, worrying his lip. To be completely honest he felt a little bit like crying; it was just that nothing had ever been anything like this. He'd never felt closer to anyone and his body was shaking uncontrollably and Draco was squirming against him, creating not exactly friction but the promise of friction and he wasn't going to be able to stay still for very long, but he needed to be sure he'd remember this forever.

"Harry," Draco sighed, tightening himself. "Harry, please."

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, his words coming out choked. "One second."

Draco shifted slightly and brushed a hand against his face, settling to cup his cheek. "You all right?"

"Yeah, fine," Harry breathed. "You're just—"

"Just what?" Draco whispered.

Harry shook his head. He wasn't going to ruin this by declaring his love, that would be idiotic. Yes, he'd always thought that would be what his first time was like, but this was Draco Malfoy and he'd need to adjust.

"Okay," he sighed. He moved his hips slightly, barely moving at all, but Draco groaned. He moved a little faster, and Draco's hand dropped, gripping the sheets. Harry couldn't believe this was as good for Draco as it was for him because _nothing_ could _ever_ be this good, but it certainly wasn't going to stop him. He moved faster, slowly picking up speed, and it was even better, and Draco was moaning and gasping, hair mussed and hanging in his face.

Then he was slamming in and Draco was screaming and Harry was willing himself not to come, not so soon. He reached down and started stroking Draco's cock. Draco's screams turned into shrieks and a second later he was coming, moaning uncontrollably, arching his back and coating Harry's hand and both their stomachs and then Harry was gone too, empty himself into Draco, also moaning, and he let Draco's name slip but that was probably okay, Draco had said it before, it would be fine. He collapsed onto Draco, finding his lips and kissing him desperately. Draco returned with equal passion, and when Harry had to pull away to breathe Draco used a wandless spell to clean them and then gently pushed Harry onto his back and curled him against him.

"Harry," he sighed, already sounding half asleep. "Harry, that was perfect. You have no idea."

Harry laughed throatily. "Think I do." He kissed the top of Draco's head, again wondering if that was okay. He couldn't think, couldn't remember what they'd done before, couldn't decide what was okay and what wasn't. "Merlin, Dray."

"You're okay, then?" Draco asked sleepily. "No regrets?"

Harry's heart clenched, filled with equal parts love and anxiety. "No regrets," he said. _Just that I can't tell you I love you_, he added to himself.

Draco turned to look at him, eyes filled with all sorts of things Harry didn't understand. "You sure? Something seems off."

"Just a little overwhelmed," Harry replied. Merlin Draco was perceptive. It would be sweet if it was specific to him, but he was pretty sure Draco was always that observant.

"Okay," Draco said skeptically, curling back up against him. "As long as you're good. It's your first time, it should be perfect."

"You're very sweet," Harry said with an only slightly pained smile. "It was incredible."

"But not perfect?" Draco questioned.

Harry winced. He was getting wound up and the last thing he wanted was to come out of his afterglow. "Dray, let it go, okay? I couldn't ask for anything more. You're amazing."

Draco turned again. "What's wrong? You're my boyfriend, you're supposed to tell me everything."

Harry kissed him. "I'm exhausted. I can tell you are, too. Nothing's wrong, we're both just tired from mind-blowing sex. If you're still convinced something's wrong in the morning, we'll talk then."

"I'm plenty convinced," Draco said, then yawned. "But fine, we'll talk tomorrow."

Harry kissed the top of his head again. "G'night."

"Mm, night, Harry."

**20**

Harry was woken up by soft kisses trailing down his neck and then across his chest. He sighed in pleasure and smiled, slowly opening his eyes.

"Hi, Draco," he said sleepily.

Draco nipped him lightly, then came up for a languid kiss. "Hi," he said, breaking away.

"Sleep well?" Harry asked.

"Very, thank you," Draco replied. "I was kept up by whatever was bothering you last night, but I managed to overcome it."

Harry winced. "Would you just believe me when I tell you that you don't want to know?"

"No," Draco replied, giving him a chaste kiss. Then he locked eyes with Harry very seriously. "Your first time is important. Mine is hardly something to speak of, but I was in charge of yours and I need to know I didn't leave you wanting."

"You didn't," Harry said firmly. "It was wonderful."

"But not perfect," Draco said. "Tell me why."

"You're sure?"

"Yes, absolutely," Draco replied, still so seriously Harry couldn't help but reply honestly.

He could, however, close his eyes, and he did that. "Iloveyou," he said very quietly and very quickly. There was a moment of silence and Harry couldn't breathe with worry.

"One more time," Draco said. "A little slower."

Harry squeezed his eyes tighter. "I love you."

Another silence, and this one was much scarier because there wasn't any way Draco could have misunderstood this time.

"Harry, I—"

"Just stop," he interrupted. "I didn't want to tell you, this is your fault. But I promise it doesn't matter. Everything's fine."

"Stop babbling," Draco said mildly. "Are you certain? It's not because of what we did last night, is it?"

"No," Harry said mournfully. "No, it was before that."

"And you didn't tell me?" Draco asked tightly. "You let me take your virginity and you didn't happen to tell me that you're in _love_ with me?"

Harry sat up and he was hoping Draco would push him back down, but he didn't. And when he reached over for his glasses and sat on the edge of the bed with his legs hanging off the side, Draco didn't respond to that, either.

"I'm sorry," Harry said tonelessly. "I should go."

Then Draco did put a hand on his arm, and Harry had never been more grateful for a touch, even though he was pretty sure it was full of pity and nothing else.

"Please stay," Draco said quietly. "I'm the one who should be apologizing. I wasn't expecting it, that's all."

"Okay, well, I'm still sorry," Harry replied.

Draco turned him so they were facing. "Open your eyes?"

Harry did. He couldn't help it, not when Draco asked so sweetly. "What?"

Draco kissed him gently. "Nobody has ever told me that before."

Harry stared at him. "Really? But I thought…"

Draco shook his head. "No. Just you."

"If it helps, you're the first person I've said it to," Harry tried.

Draco laughed quietly. "A little."

"I suppose this is obvious, but I feel like I should probably ask," Harry said, stomach shriveling. "You don't feel the same?"

"I—I've never said it before, either," Draco stammered. Harry had never seen him look so vulnerable before, and it was disarmingly beautiful. "But, um. I do."

Harry stared at him. "You do?"

Draco was a bright red, something Harry didn't think he was capable of. "Can we just move on?" he asked tersely. "I get it, you didn't want to say anything. I'm going to start the Chudley Cannons poster." He slipped out of bed, pulled on a pair of pants and started going through the bag from Scrivenshaft's.

"We're okay?" Harry asked, also putting on pants and joining him on the floor.

Draco grabbed his face and kissed him firmly. "Yes, Harry. We're perfect."

Harry smiled tentatively, and Draco returned it wholeheartedly. "Okay. So, the poster?"

Draco abandoned the bag and pulled out a piece of parchment. "Right, the poster. I was thinking…"

**The end.**

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